Risque
by Marikosan-7
Summary: When trouble rumbles in the dark underbelly of New Orleans, Gambit is dragged back into the world he sought to escape. But can he and Storm survive against the odds to rid him of his debt to the Guild(OroroRemy)
1. Chapter1

**Disclaimer: Don't own the X-Men and never will!  
  
A/N: This story is set at no particular time in the X-universe, but certain incidences that have happened in Uncanny and New may be referred to over the course, but they won't make to much difference to the main narrative of my two main characters. Those main characters being Ororo Munroe and Remy LeBeau. This is an action adventure story and a romance along the way too. The pair will become romantically linked as the story moves on so if you have a deep, DEEP aversion to their involvement, I'd avoid it; if not just have some fun! (And no, just in case you go looking, there will be no R/R flames.) But for the few who chose to read beyond this author's note, I sincerely hope you enjoy the story, M'ikosan7, xx  
  
**  
**Rating:** R

**Pairing:** Ororo/Remy** 'Risque.'****   
  
**  
**_She rings like a bell through the night  
  
And wouldn't you love to love her  
  
Takes to the sky like a bird in flight  
  
And who will be her lover?  
  
All your life you've never seen  
  
A woman taken by the wind  
  
Would you stay if she promised you heaven?  
  
Will you ever win?_**

**__**

**_ #_**

She is like a cat in the dark  
  
And then she is the darkness  
  
She is alive like a fine skylark  
  
And when the sky is starless  
  
All your life you've never seen  
  
A woman taken by the wind  
  
Would you stay if she promised you heaven?  
  
Will you ever win?  
  
Will you ever win?

#

'Rhiannon' by Fleetwood Mac  
The mid-day sun beat blisteringly outside, but in the cool shelter of indoors, the atmosphere was fairly mild and pleasant. The whole of Westchester baked in the haze of a Thursday afternoon as people went about their daily lives in the little pocket of the county known as Salem Centre. For once, the families, the workers, the visiting shoppers and children in their lessons at the local high school could put to the back of their minds the mansion on the hill and all the usual strange activity that went with it. The last month had been pleasingly quiet for the X-Men; no evil Warlords, intergalactic invasions, crazed Mutant Supremacists intent on world domination, or Human Supremacists for that matter. And thankfully, the students at the school had calmed down greatly after all the insurrection and disturbances. Yes, life was as close to normal as the X- Men's lives get at present but there was only one question on the lips of all those that resided at Graymalkin Lane and one thought always floating at the edges of the mind; how long would it last?  
  
These days, with the various teams, side lines and projects, the first team of the X-Men tended to change from day to day, never mind from week to week. There were seven of them at the mansion presently; Jean and Scott, obviously, being the most senior of staff before Xavier himself, Hank McCoy was labouring about in his laboratory all hours of the day and night, Kurt Wagner was around somewhere, although after the painful revelations surrounding the validity of his Priesthood, he tended to spend much time by himself and Bobby Drake, also dealing with problems of his own. Logan was off, who knows where and as for Warren; he'd taken it upon himself to go on an extended vacation with his latest sweetheart, Paige Guthrie.  
  
The further two had not been at the mansion for any length of time for over a year now and on their fairly recent return, they had discovered that much had changed. Ororo Munroe's decision to dissolve her breakaway team had not been taken lightly, but at the time, she felt she had little option left. Their job appeared to be done after the acquisition of Destiny's diaries and although her growing differences with her great friend and mentor Charles Xavier were still a cause of friction, above all else, she was just glad to be home. But what she hadn't expected when she came back here was to find a certain Cajun waiting in her attic room. Though, even two months later, she had still to prize out of him the exact reason why...  
  
"Do you _have_ to do that?" Ororo asked with that calm and measured yet equally stern tone that she had perfected down to an art form. So much so, that when one heard it, you tended to obey without thinking. Remy's hand stopped mid way through the action that was annoying the Weather witch so; his long fingers keeping a steady but light grip on the King of Hearts that was placed between his middle and index. He looked up at Storm, who was sat at the table behind him, from over the shallow back of the cushy sofa he was languidly lounging on, whilst his thumb flicked idly on the corner of the playing card in the way it usually did on the edge of a cigarette. A hint of the petulance that was always beneath the surface with the man flittered across his face as he flicked the wrist of the hand that was holding the card and released the slim, patterned object so that it sailed deftly through the air and joined the previous twenty in the waste paper basket across the room from the settee. Ororo pursed her lips to stop from smiling, but failed miserably. With a good humoured shake of her head, she took her attention back down to the Time magazine she was reading, concentrating on an article detailing plans for a proposed _Mutant Rights_ agenda.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Remy hop over the back of the couch in his customary acrobatic style, but she kept them focused on the magazine as he made his way over to her and peered over her shoulder at what she was reading. The subtle scent of his cologne wavered about him as he stood close at her back but it was tinged with the after tones of tobacco smoke. "What's dis chere?" he asked as he fiddled in the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a sadly bent cigarette; straightening it out he popped it in his mouth, but for now, left it unlit.  
  
"Nothing probably," she replied with a note of cynicism as she thumbed the edge of the glossy print page, so that Remy, who hadn't a clue what she'd read in the first place, was a little lost. He craned his neck further, leaning his hands on the table at the side of Ororo, his chest pressing lightly to her back. As he read swiftly over the headline he gave a small not-too-amused huff; he could see her point exactly. It wasn't the first time the Whitehouse, Downing Street, the Kremlin or any other bastion of power one cared to mention had made noises of this kind in the past year or so, but nothing concrete ever came of it. Remy pulled away from the table as he took out his lighter and sprung it into life. Chuffing happily on the smoking white stick, he pulled out a chair and sat on it, straddling it the wrong way with arms hanging over the back, next to Ororo.  
  
They sat without speaking for a while; content in the ease of each others company. Storm flicked away at the uninteresting glossy pages of quasi- politico ramblings, not stopping to really concentrate on any one story, just glancing quickly at each to garner the subject, whilst Remy smoked away, gazing out of the French doors to his left. Then through the minutes of comfortable silence, Ororo asked, almost casually, "How are you holding up Remy?" She didn't look up at him until she'd closed the last page of the magazine; turning her face to the side, her features set in that almost perpetual calm and control that had become a given.  
  
Gambit didn't show it on his face; his outward appearance betrayed not a flinch but on the inside, he winced. Not pitifully, it was more a carefully contained irritability. At times, he felt being back here in Westchester was stultifying and any little question like that would just gnaw at him for no reason, no matter how genuinely expressed. He was finding it increasingly hard to abide inquiries that required him to be earnest in reply. Exhaling the stream of cloudy blue he seemed to sigh, so lightly that it was almost inaudible. "You know me chere," he gave a small shrug and took another toke, his lips smacking as he breathed in. "I'm nuhddin' if not resilient."  
  
Ororo smiled, "That you are my friend, that you are." Standing, she tucked her chair back under the table. As she passed him she took hold of his free hand, squeezing it gently. He didn't look up at her as he held her warm hand within his but he appreciated the gesture so much, suddenly feeling like a bit of a jerk for being pissed. She only did it because she cared. "Any time you need to talk Remy, you know where to find me."  
  
"Yah," he replied quietly as he released her hand. Then he reached over and picked up the discarded magazine, flicking through its already curled and dog-eared leaves with the same speed and absence as Storm.  
  
Ororo stood there for a few moments longer, in the kind of proximity that to good friends comes as second nature and doesn't feel like an intrusion or invasion of personal space. Then she went over to the coffee table on the other side of the sofa and picked something up from it. Going back over to the table she dropped the object just underneath Remy's cigarette, in the nick of time as it turned out; the ever growing column of white and grey ash fell into the cut-glass ashtray as soon as it hit wood.  
  
"Cheers Stormy." He didn't look up then either, simply taking another long draw on his cigarette instead.  
  
"Don't mention it," she replied in a clipped tone, just about managed to hold her tongue at the use of that eternally irritating nickname and went to leave as she had an appointment with Professor Xavier.  
  
But just as she was by the door, Remy called over, "An' by de way."  
  
"Yes Remy?"  
  
"Nice 'do!" His eyes flicked up to her briefly and his lips were turned up at the edges into an unreadable type of grin; the creases and dimples that ran down the side of his mouth through the action looking like dark pits, there was that much unshaven growth to fill them.  
  
Ororo's brow creased slightly as she self-consciously ran her left hand down the back of her new severe crop. He did this sometimes; said something to her that she didn't quite know how to take, no matter how well they knew each other. Was he being sarcastic? She couldn't tell. So she gave a cautious but polite, "Thank-you." Then left the room to go see Charles for the talk he'd requested. A talk she wasn't at all looking forward to, as it would be the first time they'd spoken in complete privacy and solitude since the rather ill-fated discussion on how to deal with the young teleporter, Jeffrey Garrett. There had arisen a major division in their respective beliefs on that day; the point where the pupil was now well enough equipped with her own thoughts to challenge the instructor. Both where too strong minded to back down and it had become clear that ever since her return that their positions had not fundamentally changed on the subject and much worse, a number of other things as regards to the running of the school were to be reconciled between them also. It was only a matter of time before these things came to a (potentially) explosive head.

* * *

As Ororo made her way swiftly along the corridor towards Xavier's office, Bobby Drake came around the corner from the other end, sporting his X- uniform, a fact which Storm only noted because the usual not-to-scared-to- bare-more-than-a-bit-of-flesh Iceman, had his leather jacket zipped practically right up to his chin. For someone who thrived on cold temperatures, the man looked strangely like he was wrapping up warm for the winter.  
  
"Bobby." She nodded her head cordially at her fellow X-Man as he went past.  
  
"Storm." He returned the sentiment in a similar fashion, but then stopped. Holding his hand half aloft in the manner of someone trying to remember a question they wanted to ask but it had just slipped from the tip of their tongue. Then he suddenly had a flash of inspiration and remembered it. "Oh yeah, have you seen Gambit anywhere?"  
  
"I just left him in the rec room."  
  
"Thanks 'Ro." With that he carried on in the direction of the room that he'd been heading for anyway, absently starting to whistle an abstracted tune that surely only he was aware of the origin. Ororo smiled in a slightly baffled way as she watched him go; his 'tune', if one could call it that, still sailing down the hallway long after he'd disappeared around the corner. Feeling her mood just a touch lighter than it had been a moment ago, she went on her way also; walking steadily, but not in too much of a rush to get where she was going.

* * *

**_The Rec Room..._**

**_  
_**  
"Hey," Bobby called casually as he entered the room.  
  
"Hey, mon ami." By now, Remy had retrieved his cards from the waste paper basket and had just started a game of solitaire, his number one pursuit these days since he'd kindly declined Charles's offer of a teaching post at the school. Trying to instruct a bunch of hormonally charged little time- bombs didn't really attract him funnily enough. Storm had joked that it was because he knew he was still as much of a kid as the pupils; he hadn't found it all that funny. But then again, smartarses never do find jokes funny when the jest is at their expense.  
  
Bobby stood at the other side of the table from Remy, watching the game unfolding, which irritated him to no end. "You want somet'in' homme or you jus' gonna stand dere all day?" he drawled as he continued placing the cards in quick succession in their correct sequence as dictated by the rules of the game; rules which incidentally were lost on an utterly befuddled Bobby Drake.  
  
"Yeah," he said slowly, still trying to work out the way the game was played, a task made all the more difficult as he was observing it upside down. "I was just wondering if you were up for a tussle in the Danger Room?"  
  
Remy's hand stopped just as he was about to place the four of spades down on the previous card. "Mebbe later mon ami," he mumbled as he carried on with his game.  
  
"Come on G, I know your minus powers these days but I thought you'd been fine-tuning your moves now that your an ordinary 'baseline'?!" he taunted as he leant forwards on the table.  
  
"Come on now Bobby," he looked up at Iceman, his eyebrow raised slightly, the corner of his lip curled, "You know Remy'd whoop yaw ass wit' both han's tied behin' 'is back, non? Wit' powers or sans, you know what I'm sayin' mon ami?" He placed his pack of cards down, banging their bottom edge to straighten them up like an experienced card dealer before laying them flat at the foot of the five various sized vertical lines already laid down.  
  
"Woo-Hoo! Them's fightin' words homme!" Bobby laughed, affecting, extremely poorly, a Cajun accent.  
  
"Lookie here Bobby-boy, you wanna get yaw snow-cone butt handed to you on a silver platter, den lets do it!" Remy got up from his chair, picking up the deck of cards as he went and stashing them into his back pocket.  
  
"What'd you need those for farm-boy?" he jested as he watched Remy pass and then followed him out of the room.  
  
Deftly taking one from his pocket, so swiftly Bobby didn't notice despite being right behind the tall Cajun. "Fo' luck, mon ami." With a quick flick, he threw the card behind him, hitting Bobby square in the forehead with its thin edge. "Fo' luck." He smiled.  
  
"Ow!" Bobby yelped, rubbing his smarting forehead, on which a thin red line was beginning to appear. "That hurt!"

* * *

**_The office..._**

Ororo knocked gently on the door then immediately let herself into Professor Xavier's office. The fresh fragrance of several domestic house plants hit her, flowing over her like a soft veil and she instantly felt at home; the slight tension that had been building in her shoulders melting away on catching the scent. Closing the door quietly behind her, she went over to the large window behind Xavier's desk where he was standing; hands clasped together by the small of his back, with the round handle of his cane locked in the centre of them, looking out of the latticed glass onto the expansive back lawn of the mansion, his mansion. Ororo took her place at his side, joining him in silently surveying the landscape, with its mass of sprawling woodland and in the distance behind that, the far off mountains that looked bluish in the blistering haze of the sun. It was so quiet, both inside the office space and out, which was a rarity given the almost one hundred pupils that the school now housed. Crickets could be heard, ticking and leaping somewhere in the grass below and the gentle cries and songs of larks filled the minutes of blissful silence. When Ororo chanced a look to the side, she smiled slightly as she noticed that Charles had closed his eyes in contemplation.  
  
This was how it should be she thought to herself with a slight hint of regret, indeed, this was how it once was between the two old friends. But so much had changed since the days when the X-Men where nothing more than a small, secluded, tight-knit band of heroes and adventurers. When circumstances change, it is one of those painful life lessons that dictate that ideas, lifestyles and people must change likewise. It was a lesson both Charles and Ororo were having some difficulty adjusting to, though neither would admit it.  
  
"So my dear Windrider, how are you settling back into mansion life?" He still had his eyes closed as he asked the question in his soft, well-spoken tone.  
  
"You know me Charles," she replied, equally at ease, "I adapt quickly."  
  
Charles gave a low quiet laugh and then turned to look at Ororo as he addressed her, "Truly, has so much changed?"  
  
"It has indeed my friend. I find that the mansion is no longer..." At this point she paused, turning slowly, looking about the office, which in truth had changed very little, physically at least, "...no longer the home I once knew. But that is not to say that I do not wish to make it so once more."  
  
Xavier unlinked his hands, taking one from behind him and placing it gently on Storm's back, ushering her over to the two lounging chairs that adorned the reading area of his office, on the way there, he professed his desire for her to feel at home here again also. "I know things have changed greatly, not just here but in the world at large and it is increasingly hard to keep up. But we move on and we keep abreast of things as best we can---that is why we, the X-Men, have always existed and I hope you feel you have a major part in that future, I sincerely do." The pair took their seats opposite each other, relaxing into their soft woven cushioning.  
  
"I also Charles," she replied as she crossed her legs, running a hand over her flowing purple trousers to straighten the awkward creases out, "But I will not pretend that the concerns I expressed, when I came here to help Bishop and Sage, have disappeared."  
  
Charles nodded his head as if conceding to the fact; leaning his elbows on either arm of his chair and clasping his hands together at his chest. This wasn't going to be easy, for either of them, he'd always known that. Out of all of his pupils, along with Scott, Ororo was the one who had constantly commanded the most respect from him, simply from her natural state; she was a woman that one couldn't help but feel humble in the presence of. It had never been a wonder to him that she had once been worshipped as a goddess, no wonder at all. But the division in their respective beliefs of late had been a strain on a once close relationship, there was absolutely no denying that fact and it pained him to admit it. He leant forwards in his chair a little, hitching himself up with his elbows as he moved. "I appreciate the concerns you raised on that day, but I still defend the position I took on the Jeffery Garrett matter."  
  
"And I continue to contest it."  
  
As soon as Ororo uttered those words, the situation felt instantly tense once more. Their borrowed likeness of peace shattered instantly and they could no longer pretend that things were as they once were; no matter how much those mere minutes had been pleasing to both.  
  
"Then Ororo, it only begs the question; if you find my methods so undesirable in the current climate, why have you returned?"  
  
-TBC- 


	2. Chapter2

**Chapter.2.**

****

**The Headmasters Office...**

  
Ororo, who it was fair to say is not easily shocked, was slightly aghast at Professor Xavier's bluntness, more than slightly. Due to the seriousness of the nature of the 'business' they were in, it had not been unknown for X- Men to be a little coarse with one another, to put it mildly. But at this moment, Ororo couldn't help but feel that the harshness of Xavier's comment was most unnecessary. All she wanted was a frank and open discussion.  
  
"Charles, I do not wish to argue with you, but if you can not even tolerate a healthy debate within your own domain then do you not think something has gone drastically wrong _somewhere_?" She wasn't indignant, moreover confused.  
  
Xavier didn't take long to muster his reply; his mind was set on the subject. "No Ororo, it has not gone wrong, not in the slightest. What I am suggesting here is a radical shake up of societies laws. That is a fact that we can no longer avoid." He stood up, taking up his sleek, black cane and pacing back and forth a dozen or so steps, just like any other collage Professor was apt to do when thinking deeply or trying to press a point to a pupil. "The dream is still in tact, of that I am certain, but it has become clear that, as in the Garrett case, we need to expand beyond it. Ordinary---traditional human laws may not be adequate to deal with post human problems. We have a respo---."  
  
"So, what you are saying is that we are above the law?" Ororo cut in, quite unable to contain herself in the face of what she was hearing. She splayed her hands to either side so that her pale palms faced upwards and gave a small shake of her head as if to display her disbelief. "Charles, have you heard yourself?!"  
  
He shook his head but his voice remained calm and he looked her directly in the eye, completely determined. "You are missing the point entirely Ororo, I am not suggesting that we are above the law at all. What I am proposing is that we have to face the fact that as mutants become a more accepted part of humanity, the whole face of human tradition and society will be altered, that is something that is inevitable."  
  
"I appreciate how you see the future in the long term, but most ordinary humans and indeed mutants are not fortunate enough to have your long term goal idealism to find comfort in." She got up from her chair also, folding her bare arms over her chest. "Yes, we must continue to offer hope for a better, equal future, but we must also show that we are a part of the imperfect present, no matter how hard that is."  
  
"You have become blind to the fact that we are a force for change Ororo!" he shot back accusingly, sounding much more perturbed than a moment ago. "I understand that the proposals that the Institute is putting forwards are much more...radical than in the past but, BUT," he insisted, raising his hand to halt her as it became obvious that Ororo was about to cut in once more, "---we have to realise that no social group that has existed outside of the main social powers or the excepted norm has ever integrated without changing the landscape of that society. Any repressed group that you care to mention, from persecuted ethnic populations to women, they have all altered the very fabric of the societies that they wished to be part of, and that is as it should be!"  
  
He had a point, Ororo couldn't deny that fact, but as with all brilliant visionaries, Xavier failed to realise that he was becoming lost in his own logic. He obviously couldn't reconcile the fact that the rest of society would simply see his attempts, like in the Garrett case, as mutant favouritism and nothing more. The finer points of his wider vision would be utterly lost on them. "It is true, what you are saying is something I have always believed and I have never ceased to respect your views, but I fear that you are failing to see the bigger picture." After a minute of contemplation, Ororo walked over to the centre of the room, running her hand down the back of her short hair absently as she rested the other near the small of her back, curling it around her waist. Turning back towards Charles, she started quietly, "We can not escape the truth that what we do not have in common with other repressed groups throughout history is the fact that a mere handful of us could bring the whole population of the world to its knees. It is not quite the same situation where the Nazi's accused people of doing things that they were never and could not possibly ever have been responsible for. But with mutants---it is different. And therefore we can no longer see their fear as being unreasonable. What we have to show is that while we wish to influence society for the better, we can also be held accountable for wrong doing."  
  
"How?"  
  
"By being accountable to an _official court of law_ Charles, how else?" She didn't intend to raise her already powerful voice as much as she did but Charles was becoming beyond infuriating. This all felt so strange to her after so many years of a cordial and calm relationship with this man. She was beginning to feel that she didn't know him at all anymore and that frightened her---Charles had always been on of the few people that she could truly depend on and trust.  
  
After a protracted pause for consideration, the Professor nodded, it appeared that he agreed with his former protégée, but only to a point. Taking up his chair once more, he looked over at his Windrider and asked her, in all earnestness, "Do you honestly, in your heart of hearts think that young Jeffery would have received a fair trial in the current climate?" He paused for a reply, but not for long. "Progress has indeed been made, but not that far---I know, you know, we ALL know, that if Jeffery was put to trial, the press would have had a field day, and the boy would have been hung from the highest tree. As things stand, I _truly believe_ that justice, true justice, is not yet possible for mutants, so we have to do all we can to make sure they can at least be protected."  
  
"That is all very well and good, but when it comes to the point where you can not even control those under your own roof, do you not think things have gone beyond your personal jurisdiction?" She hesitated, thinking whether she should broach the subject she wanted to, but then realising that she had to now. "It is clear that your ideas for mutant justice extend to some---but not others."  
  
The Omega Kids; it was clearly obvious that her reference was to that particular debacle. "If you are referring to events that befell the school some months ago, then I assure you, I considered my course of action most carefully. And it seems to me that by your reaction, you do not think I dealt evenly in both cases?"  
  
Ororo leant back against Xavier's desk; her arms folding over her strapless black top. "No, it is safe to say that I do not. If the gang that issued the riot under your very roof are to be brought to justice under the realms of the proper and correct law, then it should logically follow that any other person at the school should also be subject to its jurisdiction."  
  
"Garrett's circumstances were different, and you know it!" It was the first time in a long time that Charles had seemed to be truly angry. Yes, he was usually stern but it was not often he really lost his temper, not with Ororo anyway. Though, the last time they had disgust this matter, he had been strangely bitter at Storm's opposition to his position. "The boy was not malicious in his act, but if he were to be brought before an ordinary court of law he would have been judged to be so!"  
  
Ororo could not retort because she knew that Charles spoke the truth, although that did not alter her basic view that no mutant should, or indeed could afford to appear to be above the law. It wasn't so much that the X- Men themselves operated in circumstances that often called for them to act in ways that any civilian would be condemned for, if she really admitted it to herself, it was the fact that the whole set up of the school was ill equip to deal with the sheer number of mutants that it currently housed. There had always been something distinctly militant about the organisation of the X-Men, but its small scale meant that it never got out of hand. The sense of a family that had always purveyed amongst the resident mutants had always ensured that no-one (save for on the odd occasion Logan, but he could always be forgiven!) acted like a vigilantly. But clearly, the larger groups of mutants that now inhabited the mansion where ripe for forming their own groups within its parameters, in the true spirit of teenage rebellion no less. And so far, it had only spelt trouble for all concerned. She had objections to this in itself in truth, the unparalleled potential for creating a legion of young, lethal soldiers, with unsavoury ideas of their own. Surely that wasn't healthy for anyone. Though, a place such as this seemed to be the only option at the moment. But this was clearly an argument that neither would win at present, and so she conceded.  
  
"Maybe you are right Charles, maybe you are right---I just think that there are forces at work that you seem content to ignore and in the long run that can only spell disaster for you and all of us." She started for the door, but just before she got there she turned to him and felt she had to honestly respond to the accusation that he had originally hit her with. "You asked me why I came back; all I can say is that there was a dream that I once believed in here, its birth in these very walls. I am not content to stand by and watch it be lost in a mire of unthinking idealism and youthful stupidity."  
  
Charles didn't say anything immediately, insulted as he should have been; he respected Ororo's opinion too much, enough to accept their differences. "Then we have a task ahead of us Windrider," he said, "To draw together the splits between us--- as well as our enemies."  
  
She smiled; the gesture was slight but hopeful, "That we do Charles. But now that I am back, do not expect me to give you an easy ride!"  
  
He nodded, returning the smile, recognising that although their beliefs were drifting, they hadn't quite reached opposite poles just yet. Ororo left the office, shutting the solid oak door as quietly behind her as she had entered.

* * *

_****_

_****_

_****_

_**The Danger Room...**_

The clacking sound of the keyboard filled the small observation deck as Remy's long fingers glided effortlessly over the black protruding squares, punching in, without undue thought, the serial number for the desired Danger Room programme. A sequence of pop up boxes appeared on the computer screen, flashing grey against a blue background, offering a series of failsafe questions, designed to make sure that nobody accidentally put in a programme they wouldn't be able to cope with. Abstractedly, he punched the return key to all five failsafes, never really paying them much attention. He'd done this a thousand times before so there was no real need. The programme selected was more of an obstacle course than a fight simulation as was their intention. This was going to be more of a dangerously glorified game of tag than an out and out slog-fest, though X-Men had been grievously injured in less in the past.  
  
"Is it ready?" Bobby's voice game through the intercom on the control panel, slightly distorted through its background static. Remy looked down over the lit-up panel, through the plexy-glass window to see Iceman stood waiting, peering up expectantly. The Cajun huffed out a small laugh that sounded surprisingly gravelly as he placed yet another cigarette in his mouth, shaking his head in amusement at Bobby's eagerness. He made his way out of the metalic room, lighting the fag as he went. "De boy don' know what he puttin' himself in fo'," he said to himself in a quiet and amused voice as he trotted briskly down the grid like staircase that led down from the elevated booth, the steel caped tips of his boots clanging and then echoing against the metal steps.  
  
"You ready?---an' before you say it, don' say 'I was born ready'."  
  
Bobby smirked as he concentrated on 'icing-up', first his hands frosting over as gradually the effect took hold from the feet up until it eventually consumed his whole body and clothing. "Hey, I was a battle hardened X-Man when you were still knocking off rich people for a livin' Gumbo---of course I'm ready!" He pointed a glacial finger at his would-be opponent, "And don't you forget it!"  
  
Remy laughed the jib off, waving a dismissive hand at the younger X-Man. He may have been in the team from the earlier days, but Remy was still seven years older than him, just two years off hitting thirty in fact. He rubbed his exposed arms with his fingerless gloved hands, in a vain attempt to warm them up; whenever Bobby 'dropped', it wasn't just him that plummeted, it tended to be the whole atmosphere that felt like sub-zero temperatures.  
  
"Damn Bobby!" He couldn't stop himself from giving a vigorous physical shiver, "You worse than Stormy sometimes, you know that?!"  
  
He chuckled as he took a few steps back; each man being to unconsciously circle each other; readying for battle. "If she caught you sayin' that, you'd have lightenin' bolt up your ass!"  
  
"Ah, not mah Stormy," his hand began to creep to his side; sly fingertips dipping over the edge of his ragged jean waist line, "She'd nevah admit it, but she loves it really---you don' know shit about de femmes do you homme?"  
  
By this point, Bobby wasn't paying any attention to what Gambit was saying because he'd noticed the creeping hand and in accordance let out a swift ream of ice from his hand; the white frost solidifying as soon as it came into being, heading straight for Remy. But the wily old Cajun was quicker and in the flash of an eye had whipped out his Bo staff. It extended out immediately with a quick snap of his wrist and cut off the shard of ice, making it shatter into a thousand pieces at his feet before it got anywhere near him. And that was the Danger Rooms 'q' to kick into action. As soon as powers were used, it had been programmed to issue a random assault course; anything and everything could happen from now on. The rules of the game were simple; three tags and you were out, that's if the Danger Room didn't get you first. He'd played it often with Storm and so far, they were 'Even Stevens'.  
  
Bobby shot out three streams of ice in quick succession; they were long thin and wickedly pointed at their tips. Remy dogged one with a quick side step, deflected another in the same manner as the first but was almost caught by the third one. With all his strength packed into his thighs he quickly ducked into a crouching position before launching himself off the floor and into an evasive summersault. As he flew through the air, his legs tucked under him so that his body became a ball he suddenly extended them out as he came full circle but as he did so he tore five or six cards from his back pocket and when he came into land, whizzed them across the room. Immediately Iceman was tagged on the shoulder with the first card.  
  
"_Damn it!"_ he groaned as he shifted to the side, letting out a spray of frost that presently stopped the others in their paths, making them drop to the metal panelled floor as if they were made of lead.  
  
As Remy came to the ground, landing in a crouched position, resting forwards on his knuckles, he didn't have time to gloat. A thick red laser beam, modelled after the energy forces of their very own field leader headed straight for him from one of the tracking systems that were dotted about in the rafters of the room like security cameras; watching the 'players' moves with the beady eyes of eagles, primed and ready to shoot at any moment. He rolled to the side to avoid the potentially lethal beam, his Bo staff flying from his grasp as he went but was forced to roll back the other way as Bobby aimed a furious and unrelenting blast at him. Literally a sheet of ice like a vicious hailstorm very nearly knocked the Cajun into the middle of next week. He felt every hair on his body stand on end as the temperature immediately around him plummeted even more. "Woo Bobby!" he exclaimed in mock shock as he got to his feet and took out some more cards, but there was not a drop of ice on him, "Remy'd almos' t'ink you were angry dat dis_ 'static'_ got de better o' you, mon ami!" Bobby didn't reply, baring the brunt of the insult stoically as he readied himself for the next assault.

* * *

Ororo came up to her classroom, taking out the key from her trouser pocket as she reached the door. Sliding the slim piece of brass into the key hole, it uttered a muted click, releasing the lock. As she entered the classroom, she placed the key back in her pocket and made her way over to the desk at the top end of the room. Several floor to ceiling French windows ran along the west wall, lighting the place brilliantly; the bright clear sunshine spilling unhindered into the quiet room. There were fourteen student desks, with their accompanying plastic bodied, metal legged chairs tucked neatly and uniformly underneath them. They were set out in three rows of four with the remaining two positioned in front of them. All fourteen were arranged in such a way as to concave in semi-circles, giving a more of a group feel to the set up. The classroom had belonged to Emma Frost for her psychic outreach programme, but since she'd decided to accompany her remaining 'cuckoos' on a 'grand tour' of sorts, it became vacant for Ororo to take up her teaching post. She was presently preparing to teach Arabic to a handful of the older students who had opted to take it, starting from tomorrow but she had also taken over French, Italian and was running a horticulture course down at her greenhouse, though few students had expressed much interest in it so far. She pulled out the chair, the sound of its back legs scrapping on the parquet floor and sat before her empty desk. Save for the inevitable potted plant, as the term had only just started, there was none of the droves of paperwork that would come eventually.  
  
"Who'd be a superhero?" she muttered to herself wryly as she pondered over the changing nature of the X-Men's roles within the mutant community. Reaching down to a lower draw in the desk, she pulled it out and retrieved a large book detailing the curriculum for teaching stage one Arabic. It was a thick and hefty book that made a loud thud as Ororo attempted to merely place it down in front of her. Hank had pointed the book out to her when she'd been browsing in the library a couple of days ago, looking for something entirely different at the time. She'd happened to mention to him in passing that although her Arabic was fully fluent, having picked the language up on the streets of Cairo she feared that it wouldn't be adequate enough for teaching purposes; littered with slang and local phrases as it was. Taking a ledger and pen from the draw above the one that had housed the book she set them down and opened the text with something like a resigned sigh.  
  
Skipping the first few introductory pages she stopped at the main content index; running her finger down the list of chapters until she came to the one that was appropriate for her needs. All she really needed was a few pointers on how to structure the lesson plans and tips on the finer points of the written grammar. It had been so long since she'd needed to use that that it had become a little vague also. Flicking forwards to page twenty- two, she shifted the book over slightly with her forearm and moved the ledger so that it was directly in front of her. Taking up her biro she jotted one or two things on the top of the page before speed reading through the relevant pages of her directory. Whilst she read she began tapping her pen absently on her note pad; tapping out a quick rhythm, only breaking it every now and then the write something down.  
  
The tedious task managed to keep Ororo's mind busy for a time but it wasn't long before it was winging its way back to the conversation with the Professor and one or two other concerns that had been nagging away at her recently too. But the disagreement with Charles was at the fore at the moment. She lent back in her chair and stopped tapping the pen; holding it horizontally between her hands and twisting it back and forth with a slow regularity. Her clear eyes held a far of and slightly tired look as she thought things over. She didn't even pay attention as the Arabic book gradually started to close; its binding resisting the unsupported open position and scrunching up on itself, into its natural state.  
  
It had struck Ororo that there was something that just wasn't quite right with her mentor. What was nagging at her most was that she couldn't put her finger on what exactly it was. She hadn't been here when all the problems with Cassandra Nova had exploded but something about the Professor's demeanour told her that it had affected him much more deeply than he had let anyone know. Maybe that was the reason for his more open and radical approach. Who knew? But she knew she would certainly not be content until she found out. But she didn't feel that he would open up to her even if she asked him and that was her true worry. The one thing that was clear, the fact that hurt the most as she replayed their discussion over and over in her mind, unable to help herself from going over every infuriating detail, was that she could no longer talk to Charles as openly as she was once able to. If nothing else told her that something at the core of him had shifted, had been altered, that certainly did.  
  
She stopped twiddling the pen, the plastic casing had become warm under her fingers, and placed it back down on top of the now completely closed book. As she leant back into her chair again, placing her arms flat the wooden supports, the other 'trifle' that had beset her mind came to her attention. What was she to do about Remy? Every time he insisted that he was fine and well it became less convincing than the last. He was her closest and possibly dearest friend; the last thing she wanted was for him to suffer alone. If in fact he was at all, she couldn't tell. The man could be stubborn as a mule if the fancy took him, so there was no point pushing the matter. All she could do was be there and no more. Their years of friendship had taught her that much. No doubt, she thought briefly, he would accuse her of the same crime if asked.  
  
Closing her eyes, Ororo let her head fall back, resting it on the edge of her chair. Her skull was being to ache with all this. She'd almost forgotten how much of a stress being apart of this 'family' could be. But no more than leading her own separate team had been.

* * *

Remy stood beneath the shower as its hot, cascading torrent flowed over him. Tilting his head upwards, he let the water fall freely on his face before running his hands over it then up into his hair, slicking it back. Then he bowed his head forwards to let the soothing heat of the water cover is neck and aching shoulders, gliding down his taut back that was covered with red blotches where the muscles beneath had strained during the Danger Room work out. But it was his left shoulder that was giving him the most jip, having almost been pulled out of its socket whilst trying to avoid a particularly persistent saw-blade from one of the rooms many protractible arms. He'd misjudged his placement, having to grab hold of its steel extension to dodge its blade but when it suddenly moved it the opposite direction, his body wasn't prepared and was jerked back rather unceremoniously.  
  
He clasped his right hand over his shoulder now and raised his left arm, doing one or two rotations of it clockwise and then anti-clockwise to try and ease the stiffness a bit, but to no real avail. It still ached like a son-of-a-bitch as he twisted the chunky steel knob of the shower, bringing it to an instant stop at which moment the men's shower room seemed to steam up ten times more than when the water was running. The water pipes that ran beneath the white tiled walls clanked and banged as the last of the water ran through them, making the room feel vacant and hollow. Remy stepped out of the cubicle and went over to the benches at the opposite end of the room. He took the thick white towel off the hook and vigorously rubbed it over his hair. His auburn locks were much quicker to dry now that they weren't so long. After getting rid of enough of the moisture to stop it from dripping, he patted the already fairly damp towel on his face and arms before wrapping it around his waist, its bottom edge coming just to his knees. As he finished securing the end, tucking it by his hip, he noticed a large bruise forming just above it on his right side.  
  
"Hmph," he uttered as he poked it experimentally to test how tender it was. It didn't hurt at all presently, but it sure as hell would when he woke up tomorrow morning, of that he was certain. But he dismissed it almost immediately as he crossed over to the row of matted grey lockers that were fixed to the wall where the frosted glass door was. He came to his and with a tightly balled fisted hit the previously dented door twice with solid thumps, just beneath the three slats. It popped open like it was on coiled springs; no need for a thieves expertise. Sometimes brute force would do a job just as well. He pulled out his jeans and T-shirt that he had simply stuffed in any old how, so that they now came out a crumpled mess. Holding them in is left hand he reached back in and pulled out his watch, whose glass face instantly steamed up as soon as it was brought out from the relative cool of the dark locker into the hot atmosphere of the shower room. He then went into the changing room that was through the frosted glass door with his things. Throwing the nearly sopping wet towel into the communal laundry basket just inside the door, he only stopped to yank his jeans on. Then he left the room with his T-shirt and watch still clasped in his hands.

* * *

Remy took the central stair case up to his second floor room. As it was now early afternoon all the pupils would be in class so there wasn't any risk of running into any impressionable teenage girls. He padded along the expensively carpeted hallway, his still damp feet leaving dark watermarks in his wake. Turning up the second flight of stairs, he was met by Storm coming down them.  
  
"Now Remy," Ororo said as she caught sight of him coming towards her, "what would Charles say if he knew you were parading around the school half dressed?" She cast him a knowing smile as they came to a mutual stopping point two steps apart at the centre of the stair case. "You know how tiresome a teenage crush can be." Resting her hand on the smooth banister, she tilted her head as she waited for the sarcastic and self-satisfied reply. But he didn't give her one; he only leant on the banister in front of Ororo and regarded her, mirroring the tilt of her head and ghost of a smile. "What?" she questioned, trying to keep her voice light as possible as his ebony and scarlet eyes held fast, but there was something distinctly strange in his silence.  
  
He kept it for a little while longer, the expression on his face never faltering, the eyes not flickering once until the smile grew broader and he intoned quietly, "Nuhddin'." Pushing off the banister he brushed past her and carried on up the stairs. But then he stopped just three steps up; he turned around and gazing down at her said, his tone utterly changed, "By de way, 'ow did t'ings go wit' Charlie?"  
  
"Oh," she sighed and shook her head dismissively, "Alright, I suppose."  
  
Remy cocked an eyebrow at her, patiently waiting for her to add something, like, say, the truth to that statement. When, after a moment she failed to say anything he folded his arms over his chest as he tilted his head down at her, his auburn brow raised even more so.  
  
It did not take long for her to relent. "_Okay, okay_," she conceded as she held to the polished rounded wood a little tighter, "He still will not see things from a different point of view Remy. I tried my best to reason with him, I really did, but..." She shook her head again.  
  
Remy shrugged, "Times 'ave changed girl. De X-Men, dey ain't what dey use' to be." Was all he had to offer, seemingly _laissez-faire_ as ever, but he did take note of Ororo's sceptical look and so added, "Mebbe you t'inkin' comin' back 'ere wasn't such a good idea, hien?"  
  
"Maybe," she said quietly, "But no more than you?"  
  
He gave Storm that unreadable grin again in lieu of an answer, turned, and then carried on up the stairs. "See you later Stormy," he called back when he'd reached the top and rounded the corner, towards his room at the end of the dark oak panelled hallway.  
  
Ororo carried on down the stairs, intending to go back to her classroom on the east teaching wing of the mansion. She'd only been up in the staff living quarters, as they were now designated, because there was something she needed for her Italian class due to start in twenty minutes. She tried to think nothing more of Remy's strange reaction as she reached the top of the final staircase that led to the main reception hall, noticing in passing the damp foot-shaped patches trailing up them. After all, Storm knew better than anyone that he was prone to odd moods on occasion. But it was one more thing to add to her concerns about him. They appeared to be more frequent of late.  
  
"Oh, Ororo," she said to herself in mock chastisement, as she descended the last couple of steps "stop reading too much into everything." She'd spent far too many years worrying about other people that it was getting difficult to know when to stop. Trying once again to clear her mind of all other peripheral thoughts, she began to run over all the Italian subjunctives and pro-nouns she was going to be teaching this afternoon.  
  
**-TBC-**


	3. Chapter3

Thanks to the reviewers for the first two chapters, nice to see you're intrigued. Just a couple of notes for this chapter on some French usage, not much though;  
  
**Garçon**=Boy  
  
**Rassemblement**=Gathering

**Chapter.3.  
**  
Ororo snipped carefully at the old growth on the green and white spider plant that hung just inside the creamy canvas awning that overhung her balcony, unfurled earlier today to shade against the blistering heat. The long, thin leaves of the plant drooped over the sides of the white plastic pot limply, the dead brown ends dragging them down from their usual spiky buoyancy. Although Storm was tall, much over the height of the average woman, she still struggled to stretch up to get to the leaves, even with the extra reach of the steel clippers to aid her. Her tongue pocked at the inside of her cheek as she concentrated not only on trying to cut the ends of the spider plant but also trying to keep the peach and vanilla herbal tea she had, trembling precariously on its saucer in her right hand, from falling to the floor.  
  
_"Got it!"_ she whispered triumphantly to herself as with a neat, sharp snip, she took off the offending dead end; letting it float listlessly to the ground. Bending down, careful to keep the china cup and saucer on a level, she pushed the closed clippers into the palm of her hand and picked the leaf up; depositing it on the top of the dresser to her left. But as she put it down she heard a bang. She paused, not certain as to whether it was the noise of the heavy clippers hitting the dresser top or something else. She waited, not moving a muscle, her entire body tensed as if ready for action, a habit that had almost become instinctive. After a moment, the bang came again, this time three or four in succession. Ororo's head shot upwards in their direction; they were coming from the roof. Still with her eyes fixed on the high beamed ceiling of her attic room, she placed her hot tea slowly down next to the clippers on the dresser; the cup quietly tinking like a small bell against its saucer. Then she stopped dead again when the muffled bangs started for a third time. She followed the noise with her eyes as it progressed along the length of the roof only to stop at what seemed to be the end of her room. Easing off her cork bottomed slippers Ororo sidled over to the white-latticed doors of her balcony; her head still tilted upwards, her blue eyes still keen. Slowly, as she backed up, she felt behind her for the door handle. Instantly her hand came into contact with its cold angular then smooth curves as she took hold of it and pushed it down.  
  
Taking great care to edge the door open with the minimum amount of noise, Ororo crept through the opening with her back pressed to the night cooled glass and wooden framing. She realised that she was probably being more than a little over cautious, it was most likely some of the kids messing around, probably Angel and Beak. They seemed to be the two students that were constantly up to something or other, but it was better to be safe than sorry. One never knew who could be sneaking around, itching to cause trouble. Ororo stepped over to the side edge of the iron railed balcony, just enough to see the roof from under the canvas awning but not so far as to reveal herself. She stopped, listening out for any more movement but she only caught an indistinct shuffle. Creeping right over to the edge, she looked up but could see no-one save for the blackness of the roof against a midnight blue sky. For a moment she considered summoning a wind to lift her up there but then thought the better part of discretion would be the best plan. There was a ladder fixed to the stone-cladding on the wall. It was one of the few spaces on the mansions outer shell that wasn't consumed by the ever growing ivy. But never-the-less as Ororo climbed over the rail and took hold of the ladder, the invasive greenery was still close enough to brush against her body as she made her way up.  
  
Peeking her head above the guttering just enough to get a look at the two foot length of concrete flat that ran between the edge and the upward slope of the grey slate-tiled roof, Ororo looked to the right as she clung to the cold metal ladder. Sure enough there was a figure at the far end, sat in a crouched position, knees hitched up. But it didn't take the little pin- prick glow of a red light, the tip of a glowing cigarette, to let Storm know who it was.  
  
"Remy, what are you doing up here?"  
  
Gambit looked across as Ororo climbed up the rest of the ladder; quickly swinging her legs over the top of the guttering and making her way over to where he was sat. There was a slight warm breeze in the rapidly cooling air and it made Ororo's loose silk trousers ripple and rustle as she walked, making her look like something from the Turkish or Arabian myths of old. "Hey chére," he called; his voice low and subdued before bringing his cigarette to his lips and pulling in a long, full drag. It looked like a cloud as he exhaled it; light and free, drifting of into the subtle dark blue tones of the starless sky. As she sat down beside him, Remy lay back against the slates of the roof; his hands behind his head for a makeshift pillow whilst his cigarette nestled safely between his lips, at the corner of his mouth. He'd long since perfected the art of smoking hands free.  
  
Ororo gazed down at him and then looked out at the sweeping view of Westchester County; Salem Centre clustered deep in the heart of it, its streetlights twinkling like a small solar system of orange and white stars fallen to earth. "It is a beautiful night," she offered after a few moments of comfortable silence but all she received from her companion by way of reply was a muffled noise of half-hearted agreement.  
  
He shifted against the hard, sleek slates that still held a small amount of heat from the hot day, snagging the back of his T-shirt in one or two places as he brought one hand from behind his head and plucked the Lucky Strike from his mouth. "It's quiet---an' dat's all Remy cares abou' right now chére."  
  
Ororo laughed gently; a rich tone from somewhere deep in her throat. "So you are not taking so well to the increased membership of the Academy?" She smiled down at him and then laughed again at the sardonic expression on his face.  
  
Lazily, he hitched himself up on his elbows, took the cigarette from his mouth after two quick last drags, balanced it sideways near the end of his forefinger and then flicked it nonchalantly off the edge of the roof. "Let's jus' say, kids ain't mah strong point."  
  
"By the Goddess Remy," she chimed, "You are far, far too modest."  
  
"What you mean chére?" he asked, turning to look up at her, somewhat perplexed.  
  
Ororo smiled at him fondly and then said, "I remember, a long time ago now, a certain little girl that was more than lucky to receive your help." She laid her hand on his shoulder as she continued, her voice glowing with the warmth of reminiscing, "And I have never regretted meeting that _'cad'_ for...even a second."  
  
It was a funny coincidence, Remy thought to himself as the warm breeze stirred through his hair, that Storm should mention the way they'd happened to meet years ago, although it felt like eons to them both. Only the other day he'd been thinking about it, those first few months when they'd been carefree, roaming the East Coast like a couple of latter-day pseudo-Robin Hoods. Whenever he thought about that time, it always brought a smile to his face. It was possibly one of the happiest times of an otherwise fairly fraught existence. He'd gained a friend for life from what, at the time, was a rare act of charity on his behalf. Sometimes he felt it was more than he deserved. "Come 'ere," he said, holding his arm out and gesturing his hand, beckoning her to his side.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Jus' come 'ere!" he laughed lightly, waving his hand more insistently for her to move closer. Finally she did, sliding her way across the slates to make up the short distance between them as Remy pushed himself up with the palms of his hands and brought his feet up onto the slope. He stayed there, his feet finding grip on the regular horizontal ridges until Ororo was directly in front of him. Then he slid down, placing his lanky legs either side of her body. With ease and at total comfort Storm laid back against his chest as he enveloped his arms around her, linking his cold fingers in with hers, which were much warmer, and resting his chin at the top of her head. Her shorter hair tickled slightly at his neck and the underside of his chin as he said, "T'ings were dat much easier back den, non?  
  
"I guess," she answered immediately because somewhere in her something still craved for that freedom she had felt being a child again. None of the responsibilities of her powers, of being an X-Man, or indeed a co-leader and all the joy of having someone there who just wanted to look after her. There would always be a part of her that wanted that life to come back, despite its dubious moral nature. Freedom was something Ororo tasted all too rarely, she was pained to admit. But then she was forced to way it up against everything else being with the X-Men gave her and suddenly that little bit of self-sacrifice was worth it. "But, whilst that life was free, would you, in all honesty, trade the certainties of being a part of this family, to go back to living hand-to-mouth, with no place you could call your home?" she asked without speculation; the answer seemed obvious.  
  
"Home," he muttered the word, something in the way he said it sounded like he considered the concept to be a double-edged sword. Because, unawares to Ororo, whenever he thought of the word home, his mind invariably went back to the Bayou, the dark, winding streets of the old French Quarter, the damp, acrid heat of the swamps. Although he hadn't had the right to call it home for many a year now and even less so according to those who lived there and knew of him. Lots of water had passed under the bridge between the two Guilds and between those Guilds and Remy himself, but there were still those whose greatest pleasure would be to see 'Le Blanc Diable' dead. Certainly far too many for him to ever be truly comfortable there again. That would always leave a gaping hole in him somewhere; New Orleans ran through his veins, it was part of him. He held onto Ororo tighter, the reassuring warmth of her body against his lulling him into a kind of comfort zone, taking the edge off his indifferent mood. "Dis is mah home now petit, I know dat."  
  
"But..." She briefly turned her head up to face him, waiting for him to put the inevitable clappers on the statement.  
  
But he didn't utter a word for a moment because he could feel her heart beat drumming with a gentle constancy, like the natural flow of a waterfall crashing into a pool below with a perfect regularity; her life rhythm reverberating through her torso and in turn pulsing against his chest. The sensation of it made him want to stop everything; stop the world even, just to contemplate it in complete peace, without threat of distraction. He began to rub his thumbs up and down the soft sides of her hands, slowly, methodically. "You know dis Cajun gets itchy if 'e stays anywhere fo' too long." He pleaded his case with a half-hearted cynicism, momentarily broken from the spell of her steady cadence before moving his head down and planting an affectionate kiss on her cheek. Just as his lips met her smooth skin the tepid breeze rose again, whistling through the Cedar trees and old Oaks; disturbing them from their contented calm. "I'm beginnin' to t'ink bein' a nomad is in mah blood---I jus' can't sit still, it don' feel...right."  
  
Ororo shook her head briefly and drew his arms around her closer so that they both had them crossed over her midriff. She couldn't help but feel let down by the hazy despondency of his response because she knew different and was determined, as his closest friend, to tell him so "Well, I say your commitment to the X-Men tells a different story altogether. Would you not agree?"  
  
"_Hmph!"_ he exclaimed with a vague amusement, almost feeling humble for a second. But it didn't last long. "You t'ink too much o' dis swamp-rat at times girl." And there it was, in that one sentence; the ever-present guilt that shrouded the man, the darkness that hung in his heart every minute of every day. Ororo knew there was nothing in the least bit self-pitying about it, he wasn't that sort of person; Remy had atoned for his sins and then some, everybody knew that and had accepted it. Even Warren had come to terms with it; the man who had most to begrudge, save for Marrow. But there was a part of him that could never and would never let it go. He would feel that as great a betrayal to those Morlocks who died as his original transgression. And so he carried it with him everywhere but it only ever glimpsed the surface when he said things like that. Somehow, he still felt himself unworthy and it was apparent by now that nobody was going to convince him otherwise. But Ororo would never stop trying, ever.  
  
"No Remy," she tilted her head back against his shoulder, holding his eyes earnestly, "it is you who thinks to little. Not I who thinks too much."  
  
Remy leant down again but this time placed his rewarding kiss on her exquisitely perfect smiling lips; pecking them softly, with all the reverence of laying his mouth on the eternally fragile wings of a butterfly. "You too kind mah petit...Remy don' deserve an' angel like you." Ororo briefly took her right hand from his and cupped the side of his roughly stubbled face, stroking her slim hand down it affectionately.  
  
After that they said no more for a while, settling back into their comfortable embrace, as the winds that were becoming quite frisky fell to gentle whispers once more. The sky gradually grew darker and the odd deep grey cloud drifted in front of the crescent moon that sat gracefully on its throne. It had been some time since they'd just taken five and simply sat together, quietly. Once upon a time it was a regular occurrence of their evenings. Somewhere down below they could hear a group of the older students laughing and joking. The rabble-esque hubbub sounded like it was coming from around the front entrance, which probably meant a group where going to venture into Salem Centre, perhaps to attend the local teen disco, but more likely heading off to get up to pursuits a sight more unsavoury. After all, they were like any other group of teenagers, save for a few choice coding sequences in their DNA of course. Then from behind them came calls and shouts from the floodlit basketball court. And that was that; so much for their peace and quiet. The soothing tranquillity of the pair's evening ruined at a stroke. But it didn't matter because it appeared that they now had a visitor of their own.  
  
"_Hello?_ Ororo?" It was Jean's voice that came sailing out of the open balcony doors. "Are you up here?"  
  
Ororo desperately didn't won't to reply, but knew full well that she had to. "We are out here Jean," she called, "On the roof."  
  
They listened as her heals clipped and clopped on the attics wooden floor; the sound becoming much more high pitched as she came out onto the balcony. Instead of using her telekinesis to lift her to the roof, she used the more conventional method as Ororo had, climbing up the steel ladder. However, she didn't come all the way over, coming up just enough to see over the top. "Oh, you're here too," she said addressing Remy, "I'd knocked at your door on the way up but there was no answer, obviously. Anyway," she started, getting back on topic, "Hank, Scott and I were heading down to Harry's, I was just wondering if you wanted to come?"  
  
Ororo made an indecisive noise and then looked up at Remy, "What do you think?"  
  
He shrugged, "Whatever chére---I'm easy."  
  
Ororo looked back over to Jean, who was gripping the top sprung of the ladder as if her life depended on it. In spite of her telekinesis, rather perversely she still had a thing about heights, but only when stationary. "What about the pupils? It would only leave three members of staff here."  
  
"Oh don't worry about that sweetie; we've appointed several of the older students as guardians. There's at least one on every floor in the new dorm block."  
  
"Since when?"  
  
"Since three weeks ago. Scott and I arranged it with the Professor," the red-head said as if Ororo should have been perfectly aware of this development. "With so few of us around at the moment we thought we had to do something to guard against the kids being left alone when we're on a mission."  
  
"Right," was all Ororo said; the annoyance she put into that one coldly delivered word so thick Remy and Jean could nearly taste it. Why hadn't Charles informed her?  
  
"Um, so...Harry's?" Jean asked sheepishly, suddenly feeling that she'd put her size sevens right in it.  
  
"Yah, sure," Remy replied this time, "we' be down in a minute."  
  
"Okay, we'll meet outside the rec room in say..." she rolled her vivid green eyes ponderously, "ten?" She was thankful for his timely and diplomatic intervention.  
  
Remy gave a curt nod and with that Jean was back down those ladders faster than you could say boo to a goose; the awkward situation she'd just dropped herself in flushing her cheeks almost the same colour as her hair. Gambit didn't say anything until he'd heard the last of Jean's rapidly retreating footsteps fade away completely. He could feel Ororo, formally totally relaxed, now stiff as a post against his body. When she bottled up anger like this, every muscle became as tense as a highly strung bow string; tightened to breaking point. But he took comfort that she couldn't have been that mad, or half of Westchester would have received an unseasonable down poor just one minute ago. Her silence was a bad sign though. "Stor--- 'Roro, maybe Charlie jus'---_I_ _don' know_---fo'got?" Still she said nothing so he continued; this wasn't encouraging at all, "Hey, de homme's had a lot on 'is mind lately, it is possible dat 'e did fo'get," he insisted.  
  
"I find that very unlikely Remy." She ground out the words carefully and in a low voice, feeling her pulse that little bit more pronounced in her jugular in accordance with the subtle heat of her animosity.  
  
Remy racked his brains for anything remotely encouraging or comforting to say, but all he came out with, rather lamely, was, "Ya know, if it make you feel any better, 'e didn' tell Remy 'bout dem needuh."  
  
Ororo untangled her hands from his as he let his arms fall away from her body, allowing her to stand up. She brushed down her trousers, shaking off the small pieces of moss and roof debris from their loose folds. As she started to walk over to the ladder, the bits of gravel that scattered the concrete digging into the soles of her bare feet, she said, "No it does not Remy...not in the least."  
  
Remy sat there for a moment longer as he watched the Windrider disappear over the edge and down the ladder. He could feel a storm brewing and he didn't find the pun all that funny. With a slickness of movement, the Cajun jumped to his feet, quickly scooping up his cigarettes and lighter from the floor and followed her down; tucking the lighter into the half empty box and then stuffing it into his back pocket. This could turn out to be a much more interesting night than he'd previously thought.

* * *

**_Natchez, Mississippi, other side of The River from Louisiana..._****_   
  
_**  
The humidity was as all-consuming and as vicious as it was on the Bayou right now; the heat of summer in the South becoming almost unbearable as August lazily dragged its feet, reluctant to leave, clinging on for dear life. The city of Natchez continued to bake, despite the setting of the sun over an hour ago. The darkness that had fallen only pressed the heat downwards like black clothing, and there was not a whisper of a breeze to move the thick air that hung in its place, as if frozen in time. Dogs barked into the torrid night, their frantic yaps catching on the barbed snares of the still air, compounding the unnatural silence that had spread over the streets. For in spite of the peculiar absence of noise, nothing could make even the slightest echo; each sound solidified in suspended animation.  
  
Jean-Luc LeBeau wiped languidly at the thin film of sweat that clung to his upper lip, just beneath his thin dark brown moustache. As he cleared the liquid beads from his skin he could taste their salt in his mouth; one or two escaping his casual attentions. He'd been waiting in this bare room, fairly close to the waterfront, for close to two hours now. With only the company of two of his Thieves Guild bodyguards that had been allowed to accompany him and the four blue-bottle flies that buzzed incessantly around the bare bulb that hung from a frayed electrical wire; the insects attracted to it despite the fact that it had blown long ago and no longer worked, it was becoming laborious. The irritating and constant noise of the fat coltish flies proved more interesting than the two well-built guards that had been selected by the Guilds high council to make the trip over the boarder into Mississippi with their leader for they seemed to be completely mute; uttering hardly a sound the entire car journey from New Orleans. But then again, the two men had never been known as skilful conversationalists, hence the reason they were bodyguards.  
  
LeBeau sat on the only seat available in the otherwise vacant room, an unsafe, woodworm riddled stool that had one leg shorter than the other two and wobbled perilously every time he shifted even one iota. He moved now, leaning forwards a little, his long 'rats-tail' plait slipping off the edge of his shoulder and sure enough the chair rocked back and forth as if it were on high seas. So he stood up and paced the room a couple of times, but not with an impatient urgency, like the kind he felt swelling in his chest, moreover a relaxed stroll. Jean-Luc had never been one to let his inward feelings rise to the surface, especially when he was on Guild business. The leader of the Cajun chapter of the worldwide network of the Thieves Guilds cast his cold mocha brown eyes over the walls of the medium sized room that resonated with the suffocating stench of damp; the tell tale black and green patches of fungal mould blossoming through wherever the blue striped wall paper had given up the ghost and now hung limply from the plaster it had once clung to steadfastly. He was here in this rotting backstreet room under obligation and nothing more. Whenever another chapter of the Guild made a request, one was duty bound to answer it, no matter what your misgivings were. Also, when these entreaties where made it was customary to meet on neutral ground, hence the fact that he was caged in this dank space, miles north of his hunting grounds, awaiting the arranged meeting with Pedro Velasquez Lopez, the chief of the Guild over in San Diego, southern California. The nature of why the meeting was to take place had been thus far withheld from Jean-Luc but chapters rarely contacted or intervened with each others business unless it was of dire importance. They may have been bound together by the ancient rights that formed their clandestine organisation, but as the old saying goes, there is no honour amongst thieves. That was a fact that LeBeau was shrewdly aware of.  
  
Suddenly another noise broke through the buzzing of the blue-bottles and the hollow sound of the three men's listless footsteps; up and down, up and down, up and down. Somebody was finally coming towards the room, apparently with an urgent pace but a light step. That faintness of footfall was explained as the slight girl came through the door. Her hair was dark and her features were Latino in nature; strong and defined. She may have been short, around five foot one, and roughly, from the look of her, only the weight of a fourteen year old, but her clothing betrayed that frail image as did her eyes that looked as if they were at least fifty, if not a day. There was something dangerous behind those black, set orbs, something that said they'd seen too much.  
  
"Lopez will see you now LeBeau." Even her voice sounded much older than she looked, carrying with it a kind of dark wisdom in its thick Hispanic accent, despite the fact that she could have been no older than eighteen, nineteen at best. She was stood at the door way and shifted awkwardly to the side, to indicate that she wanted them to pass through and that she would follow. The stiffness of her thick black Guild uniform, with its steel-plated, armoured knee high boots and high starched collar impeded her movement, making her chin jut much higher than was natural; the garments being far to big and bulky for her needs.  
  
The most brutish looking of the two bodyguards went through first, Pierre LeEnorme, with his strangely high forehead, made all the more higher because of his bristly shaved head, his boxer's compounded nose and permanently furrowing brow. He eyed the short girl with a barely concealed contempt as he went through the doorway and then Jean-Luc himself followed the six foot seven wall of muscle. Jean-Jacque Ruse went behind him, he was much more slim-lined than the guard that had proceeded him, with a hooked nose and razor sharp cheek bones, but no less deadly for that; his unmatched skill with a blade, no matter how small was legendary throughout Louisiana. For such a talent, his nimbleness often came in handy. At times he was so good, it was rumoured he was born an Assassin not a Thief at all.

* * *

Pierre walked confidently into the unknown; following the narrow corridor along its path as it turned like he'd strode this way a thousand times previous. The footsteps of all four, with their heavy steel boots were muffled against the shabby carpet that ran the length of the corridor that seemed to have no end, lost in darkness as it was, as the fluorescent strip lights that had been fixed intermittently to the ceiling above so far, started to come away from the flaking plaster or simply didn't work. As the group came closer to the gloom, their eyes began to adjust accordingly and Pierre could make out a small but almost entirely vertically inclined set of bare wooden steps that led down to a red painted door. The stout man stopped, and summarily so did the other three. He didn't like this; he didn't like this one bit. Meetings that took place in rooms below ground level were always to be looked upon with the deepest suspicion as it precluded most possibilities of a speedy exit should anything go awry.  
  
"It is down there," he heard the girl call from behind his two companions; her voice suddenly sounding small and far off and perhaps just a little too...eager. A sound started somewhere in his chest, clawing its way to his larynx; something between a grumbling and a chary growl. The more he hesitated the more he didn't like this whole situation.  
  
"Pierre," Jean-Luc said, with a subtle sternness in his deep, sluggish drawl, _"jus' go down de steps, garçon."_ He stood in a close proximity to Monsieur LeEnorme's broad back. There was something deeply imposing in that, even though he was a foot shorter than his comrade. It was all he needed to do to make it clear that it was his bidding that would be followed and nobody else's, no matter how unsure he felt about this whole set up.  
  
Pierre sniffed back, the sullenness in the gesture clear for all to hear. But never-the-less he carried on, plodding heavily down the wooden steps as he brought the back of his hand to his large forehead and swept away with one impatient move all the beads that had gathered there, collecting in the furrowed lines of his swarthy skin. Jean-Luc stared at his guard foully as he watched him reach the bottom of the steps; it was only when he had reached the red door with the peeling gloss paint that he followed after him; taking his time to navigate the exceedingly steep stairs in the dark. His left arm was out stretched as his gloved hand reached over and pressed against the wall, a wall that was now bare concrete and startlingly cold, even through the thick maroon leather that made a barrier between it and his bare palm. Once he'd guided himself down, the others following suite behind, it was only now that he was stood in the dim oblong of space between the last step and the door that he noticed that the temperature in the small enclave had dropped dramatically even from that of the corridor mere yards away. There was just enough room for the four of them to fit, trapped between the two points. In the small amount of light that had made it this far down, the quartets breath could be seen hanging in the air.  
  
"Go through," the girl ordered with a little more of the gravitas that she had held when she'd first appeared to collect them. Pierre duly complied, pushing open the light timber door, only to be confronted not with a room as expected but just two feet away, another door. But this time it was a steel bulk, with criss-crossing brackets, chunky bolts holding them to the doors surface. It looked like a maximum security wing door one would expect to see at the entrance of a ward for dangerous mental patients or prisoners waiting on death row. It even had a small window set near the top of it, inlayed with glass that seemed to be about five inches thick. They all noticed the frost collecting at its corners in a poor parody of snow on the windowsill at Christmas.  
  
The girl suddenly shouted something in Spanish and all three Cajun thieves briefly glanced back over their shoulders at her, their suspicion reticent but obvious. After a moment there was a reply from the other side of the door, which sounded as if the person behind it were talking through several layers of wool. That was in Spanish also; it was the husky, tar soaked vocal of a man. Suddenly there was a loud clang and then it was quickly followed by another; both noises echoing in the room behind that big steel barricade, indicating that it was a large space. With a horrendous and equally reverberating creek, the door was pulled back. Immediately, two things hit them; a blast of cold air that flooded over them like a pale of iced water had just been thrown at them; the frost being visible like a cloud and secondly, the abrupt intrusion of harsh almost white light. All three of the men pinched their eyes to nothing more than squints in order to ward it off.  
  
With no apprehension apparent in their body language, they stepped into the huge room, which it turned out, was a meat hanger. Whole sides of beef, bison and pork hung from thick chains, suspended on steel brackets fixed in one giant brace, extending over the entire room, or as much of it as they could see from where they stood. It was like a particularly macabre forest; dead, stripped bare carcasses as far as the eye could see. But there was no smell, not even the merest whiff; the freezing temperature holding any lingering scent close to the flanks of the meat. Jean-Luc stepped forwards, Pierre and Jean-Jacque lingering close behind, his dark eyes roaming around the large steel oblong of a room. There were no windows; by that he estimated that they were at least one whole level below street level. He turned, intending to search for the girl but she had gone. Both she and the husky voiced man had slipped away like shadows at night, without so much as a sound. A fact which seemed strange to him, because as he started to walk toward the hanging carcasses, all gouged with vicious looking hooks, he noted that the metal of his boots made a distinct, neat clicking noise against the concrete floor and it echoed up to the rafters too. He stopped. _"Stay close,"_ he warned solemnly, his eyes as sharp as eagle's, constantly watching. "We don' separate---no' even fo' a second. You hear?"  
  
"Yah," the two men replied in unison, scanning the environment also.  
  
"Come on," Jean-Luc ordered as he started towards the dense 'growth', weaving a cautious path through the grisly spectacle, occasionally pushing them to the side if there was no way around. The three men left a trail of swinging flesh as they made their way through; the chains scrapping and screeching as they rocked back and forth on the steel supports. Although LeBeau felt slightly ill at ease with this whole situation, the fact that the meeting was taking place in a meat locker didn't really faze him. After all, he'd attended gatherings in far worse places; the tomb where all members of the Thieves Guild were buried, near the swamps came to mind right now. But that only left him with a slight chill because it was the place where he'd attended his own first inter-guild gathering. He'd only been about eight years old at the time, no older. It was just that this seemed, to him at any rate, to be an extremely odd place to convene. He continued on, edging sideways past them, moving them carelessly to the side, all the time looking and listening with all the keenness of the master thief that he was. Then he stopped, pulling up sharply. The other two almost clattered into each other, just about managing to stop in time. Jean-Jacque took an impromptu stumble to the side as a leg of bison he'd pushed out of his path swung back down and hit him in the side.  
  
"_Shush!"_ Jean-Luc admonished, holding his hand up stiffly, bidding the thin thief to be quiet as his boots made an ungainly scuffling noise across the rough concrete in his bid to stop from falling. He only just about managed to keep his balance. LeBeau could hear faint voices, nothing more than vague whispers coming from up ahead. He strained his ears to listen, unconsciously slowing his breath so that it barely made a sound as it issued through his pensively parted lips. Then they came again, like random gusts of wind, a flurry of hushed whispers but he caught them clearer this time. Even though they were of the same insubstantial volume as before, his ears were forcibly attuned to their faint frequency. Without a word, he started forwards again, quickening his pace to a more assured step. As he forged on, cutting a great swathe through the meat, the mass of them began to thin out and just as he came to a huge side of beef, the hollow cavity of its ribs facing him, the voices became louder. There were far too many he realised, way too many for the entourage of just one Guild Chief. Pushing the beef to the side revelled to Jean-Luc an open space, a circle rimmed with death. But it was what was in that circle that bothered Monsieur LeBeau.  
  
"We're so glad you could make it Senor LeBeau," Pedro Velasquez Lopez offered with a cold smile; the emphasis on 'we'. For there was not just the tall, dark and gristle featured Lopez and his three Guild advisors, sat at a temporary table, set up in the middle of the fairly large circle, which still had chains with hooks on their ends hanging down, but no meat to burden them, but several others there also. All of which Jean-Luc recognised immediately.  
  
"What is dis homme?" he questioned evenly, not betraying his sudden anger one jot. "I t'ought dis was business between de San Diego an' de New Orleans Guilds?" When he said New Orleans it drawled out, sounding more like 'Nawlins'.  
  
Lopez quirked his lip and spread his hands out to indicate the other people present. "I never promised anything of the sort Senor." He stood up from his chair and made his way around the table. He scratched absently at his slightly bearded chin as he went over to his 'guest'; digging his finger through the black wiry curls to get to the pock marked skin beneath. His left eye was a patterned swirl of pearly grey, white and pale blue. It looked just like a marble placed there in his sunken socket; the old, browned knife scar that dragged vertically down over it, cutting through his thick eyebrow and then beneath the socket, stopping half-way down his cheek indicating the cause of his blindness. He struck an opposing figure on the strength of that alone. Coming to a rest just before Jean-Luc, he clapped a 'friendly' hand on his shoulder. His mouth scrunched up into something resembling a smile as he inclined his head to one side and regarded his Guild equal for a moment. Then, is if he were breaking from a spell, he turned his head back to the table as he harshly drew in a frozen breath before saying, "I need hardly introduce you---I'm sure you are more than familiar with them all."  
  
LeBeau trailed his mocha eyes over the three other men and one woman sat at the white topped fold out table, but paid no attention to the advisors and guards that congregated behind them, appearing for all the world like a hive of drones. Yes, Jean-Luc recognised every man present at that table. At the furthest end away from him sat Tyrone Macintyre, head of the New York Guild and to his right was Rubens Parcheesi, recently appointed chief of the Orlando chapter. The chair that Lopez had just vacated separated Parcheesi from the Phoenix head honcho, Carla Erdington. And lastly, on the end closest to him was the leader of the Minneapolis tribe, Carter Barenboim. This was far worse than he ever could have expected. Guilds never joined in groups like these; it was simply unheard of and could only spell trouble.  
  
He turned to Lopez, who still had his hand pressed firmly on his shoulder, a little too firmly one could say. "Make yaw point mon ami, an' make it quick." He jerked his shoulder back so that the hand fell away from it.  
  
"Sit," Lopez commanded as he walked back around to take his chair with the other Guild heads; the arrangement suggesting that he was leading this little shin-dig.  
  
Jean-Luc made no fuss about it and took the orange plastic seat that had been waiting for him, set across the table from the Guild heads, interrogation-style. Clasping his hands loosely and letting them rest between his parted legs, he stared resolutely at Pedro Velasquez Lopez. "So what is dis," he waved his hand distractedly in their direction, "'_rassemblement'_ abou'?" then placed it back in the grasp of his other one near his legs; keeping his body-language lackadaisical as possible. He could feel the presence of his two guards close behind him; their heat resonating in the cooled air. Swiftly, he glanced at the table that the group were sat at; there was something, resembling an old piece of paper at Lopez's left hand, next to a glass tumbler that was half-full with a dark liquid. It was brown as if stained with spilt coffee and strong sunlight and moth eaten at its edges. Across the top of it, he could just about make out the words 'Brazilian' and 'Amazon', written with all the old authenticity of the quill. A brief sentence that was much smaller in construction and ran beneath the larger words appeared to be written in Spanish.  
  
Lopez fingered at the one sharp corner left on the browned scrap as he looked Jean-Luc directly in the eye. "This?" he said quizzically, "This is about the New Orleans Guild and their loyalty, Senor."  
  
"We always been loyal to de rules o' de Guild, mon ami," he insisted indignantly, but didn't for a moment raise that slow, deep voice of his. "You question our honour?" He leant forwards, returning his accuser's stare with equal rancour.  
  
Then, for the first time, one of the other heads at the table spoke up. It was Carter Barenboim, of the Minneapolis Guild. He'd been resting his chin patiently on his balled knuckles, his arm bent at the elbow, leaning on the table. Suddenly taking his hand from under his chin and pushing his rotund frame against the back of his chair, he asked, evenly, "So does your supposed loyalty to the Guild come before your loyalty to that bastard 'son' o' yours," he waited, expecting a reaction; his tongue teetering at the fleshy inside of his bottom lips in anticipation, "or after?" His finish was just as self-satisfied.  
  
"If you mean Remy," Jean-Luc began, "'e 'as been excommunicated from de Guild fo' years---dat exile still stands. Nuhddin's changed." He tried hard to ignore it but he could feel Pierre flinching minutely behind him, perfectly aware of what was going on in his head.  
  
"An' what about the Assassin's, Monsieur LeBeau?" Rubens Parcheesi explosively piped up, drumming his fingers on the table before him. "We've heard rumours of truces---some have gone so far to say...alliances."  
  
Jean-Luc remained mute, imperceptibly grinding his teeth as he bore their vitriolic gaze and that of the advisors and guards behind them. It was true, Remy had caused him untold amounts of strife and he was indeed still exiled from the New Orleans Guild. People like Pierre and his ilk would see to it that that would remain a permanent situation, no matter what the cost. But he was still his son, in spite of everything. It didn't matter how antagonistic their relationship had become. Though he realised, as a head of his people, his Thieves, loyalty to them came before everything else. Family or no family. He swallowed down hard, audibly; fighting to contain his frustration. The fiasco with the Assassin's was still a raw wound even though years had passed and although it served his means, he was as ill at ease with the truce as the other heads were. But alliance? He wouldn't stand to be accused of something so traitorous to the name and reputation of his clan.  
  
"Dere is _no_ alliance. I assure you o' dat."  
  
Lopez smiled cruelly, nodding his head as if to profess his belief and trust in that statement, his blind eye flickering in its socket. "Then are you prepared to prove your commitment and unquestioned allegiance?" He picked up the 'paper' and the harsh light shone through it, revealing it to be a map. Scanning his eyes over the musty piece of what was in fact parchment and not paper, he asked, "_At any cost_, Senor?"  
  
**-TBC-**


	4. Chapter4

Thank-you Sophia!  
  
Chapter.4.  
  
The air conditioning in the mansion was turned up to the highest setting to filter the heat; its unceasing mechanical reverberation competing with the blare of the rec room television for supremacy. Basilisk walked through the main reception hall and past the double doors of the room that were ajar. The sound of the television caught his attention though. Coming to a halt, he peered through the slim gap with his single black eye, set in the centre of his fleshy forehead to see who was in there. He was currently looking for Barnell, as he hadn't turned up to the basket ball game that was going on out back as he'd promised to. Edging his large hairless head into the room, he instantly saw that the only occupant was the giant, blue and exceedingly hairy Dr McCoy.  
  
*HYUK!* He fought to contain the involuntary noise but it was of no use.  
  
The ungainly sound drew Hank's attention over to the gap in the door, momentarily stopping his incessant and never ending fight to get comfortable on the settee. "Are you alright Basilisk?" He asked the young student. "Was there something you wanted?"  
  
"I was just looking for Bar---*HYUK!*, Barn---*HYUK! HYUK!!*---Beak." The vocal spasm always got much worse when he was nervous and he didn't quite know why but Dr McCoy always seemed to have that affect on him. Maybe it was just the sheer size of the man. That much bulk would be intimidating to anyone, though Basilisk himself hardly had the constitution of a ballerina.  
  
"I am afraid I haven't seen him or Angel since Chemistry yesterday." Hank replied, a tad apologetically; a product of his constant good nature. Basilisk tried to say thanks or utter some kind of reply at any rate, but all that came out was another of his noises. So he ducked out of the room slightly flustered and without a word. That left Hank to continue with his struggle to get comfortable on the sofa that was now far too small to accommodate his much expanded feline frame. He at first shifted forwards, perching on its curving edge and then back. But it groaned in protest; the creek so pronounced that he feared the wooden frame would snap. Immediately he stood up, peering quickly back down in search of any visible damage.  
  
"Something wrong Hank?"  
  
His head shot to the doorway again as Jean came into the rec room closely followed by Scott. They both had rather bemused expressions on their faces, wondering why Hank was staring in horror at the cream coloured sofa as if it were about to consume him whole. "Uh, nothing my dear carrot-top, nothing at all."  
  
Jean smiled and shook her head as she made her way to take up the chair by the window whilst Scott sat on the end of the sofa that was closet to her. Hank thought it best that he remained standing. Maybe the development of sturdier furniture should be his next project he pondered half seriously.  
  
Gazing out of the French door, Jean fiddled idly with the top button of her loose peppermint green blouse, watching the kids, and Bobby, on the well- lit basket ball court out back. She glanced at her gold wrist watch, noting that it was ten to nine. Crossing her right leg over her left she turned to Scott, who'd just picked up the TV guide and was flipping quickly through it as if it were a flick book. "I think I put my foot in it with Storm." She began.  
  
"Hum?" Scott muttered distractedly, looking up at his wife. "What do you mean, honey?"  
  
"Well," she started, turning in the chair to face him properly, "When I went to see if she was coming with us tonight, she asked who was going to keep an eye on the kids."  
  
"And?" Scott asked as he absently bobbed the open guide up and down in his hands, not quite seeing the problem.  
  
"And, I mentioned about the dorm scheme we'd arranged with the more responsible students. She said she didn't know anything about it."  
  
Scott tossed the guide back down onto the coffee table. "I'm sure the Professor was going to inform her at some point." He thought about it for a second and then asked, "Anyway, why wasn't she at the staff meeting when we discussed it?"  
  
Jean shrugged, touching her finger tips to her lips whilst she tried to recall what was happening at the time. Trying to think of a reasonable explanation as to why an important member of the teaching staff would not have been told about a decision that affected the school. As trifling and inconsequential as the matter might have been in he face of the issues they usually had to deal with, given Xavier and Storm's relations these days it seemed best not to rock the boat.  
  
"I wouldn't stress about it Jean." He said off-handily as he watched the T.V screen, its bright image reflecting back off his dark red glasses. "It's not exactly that important---you know, like the life and death stuff that sometimes crops up?"  
  
Jean reached over a tapped him on the arm playfully for his good-natured sarcasm. It was nice to see her husband a bit more relaxed than his usual austere shell. Sitting back in her chair she looked at her watch again, it was seven minutes to nine now, over fifteen minutes past the time they'd arranged to meet Storm and Gambit down here before heading onto their local mutant-friendly tavern, Harry's Hideaway.  
  
* * *  
  
Letting her purple trousers slip to the floor, Ororo stepped out of the little heap they made at her feet and with a flick of her left foot kicked them to the side. They glided across the wooden floor and came to a stop in the corner where she piled her worn clothes ready for washing. She unfastened the fish-eye hooks that ran down the back of her strapless top. The bottom few were easy to undo, it was only the top few that she struggled with as she reached behind to get to them. She twisted her hands into an awkward upwards angle, just about managing to knock the holding bars off their securing hooks. Once they were all undone she pulled it off from the front and carelessly tossed it into the corner with the trousers and her other dirty clothes. Turning around to the double wardrobe at her back she took the dress that had already been hung from one of the round handles off its hanger. It was nothing fancy, just a simple knee length lilac and white floral affair, nothing more than a casual summer beach dress. Slipping the dress on over her head, at the same time she placed her feet into a pair of flat heeled sandals, the first ones that came to hand. She straightened the flighty cotton dress out as she made her way across the room to her dresser and picked up the thin-toothed black comb, running it over her hair swiftly. This no hassle hair care was growing on her; no thick wayward locks with a life of their own to contend with. Putting the comb back down, she picked up the cup of herbal tea that was still sat waiting for her, though it was quite tepid by now. But no matter, Ororo could drink it just as well, hot, cold or somewhere in between. Taking a small sip, she then set it down again; its bottom clinking in an unspoken toast on the saucer.  
  
She descried her reflection in the medium sized mirror that was fixed to the wall above the dresser as she patted down the back of her hair. Her eyes seemed somehow...duller now, when once they had been crystalline blue. It wasn't a greatly perceptible change; she doubted if anyone but her would notice. The intensity of their colour was all...wrong. World weary perhaps for where once they had been clear through and through, cloudy patches intruded like a foreboding cumulus covering the brilliance of the sun. But then, like a flash of lightening that deigns to illuminate for its brief spell of energetic sentience, there was recognition of someone she had recently dwelled upon. The girl that still lived inside her and for a short time had returned to her. Maybe it was simply because she and Remy had been reminiscing about their early days together, but it had dawned on her that the last time she had had her hair this short was when Nanny and the Orphan- Maker had turned her into a child. For just a spilt second, so swift a moment that if she had blinked she would have missed it, she physically saw herself as that girl again. And the longing that had surfaced earlier, that dull ache for that free life surfaced again, swelling so forcefully in her chest that she momentarily found it difficult to take in a breath. But she pushed the feeling down once more as she had done then; ignoring the thick, muffled pain that came to her slender throat as she swallowed the lump that had formed there. She couldn't afford for doubt to creep into her heart or longing for a life that was no longer hers. Swallowing back again, her throat moving visibly with the action, she locked it away with all other things that drove pain into her heart and mind, her stoicism assured for another day at least. When one lived the life of an X-Man, it was best to keep it that way; it was the price to be paid.  
  
Trying to break from her melancholic mode of thought, Ororo shifted the focus of her eyes to something that was hanging from the bamboo frame of the mirror. It was a pendant on a silver link chain. She reached up, plucking it from the over the rounded corner of the pale bamboo. Laying her left palm flat she dangled it above before carefully lowering it in, letting the delicate chain hang of the edge. She studied the pendant in the soft light, her eyes instantly holding a slight sadness once more. It was a fairly raw but beautiful chunk of sapphire, as irregular and natural as when it had been created. But what was arresting about it was that it appeared to form a heart shape, even without manipulation of the human hand.  
  
"Oh Piotr," she whispered with a fondness, yet tinged with the same sadness that had beset her blue orbs as she delicately touched it with her finger. "How I miss you." As she uttered the words she closed her fingers over the precious stone that held that status for more reasons than one. The pendant she had clasped tightly in her palm was a twenty sixth birthday present from her beloved Colossus. Her darling big brother...gone now like so many others.  
  
"Yo' ready girl?" Storm whizzed around, holding tightly to the necklace; it was unusual for her not to have noticed footsteps on the staircase that led to her room, no matter how distracted she'd been. Gambit sauntered casually into the attic space, hands in the pockets of his pale jeans, a fresh red shirt on, sleeves rolled to the elbow and a cigarette hanging precariously from his lips. She'd composed herself quickly, not letting a glimmer of her thoughts show. At that particular feat, she was an expert to poker-player standard.  
  
"Yes." She answered, walking over to where he had stopped roughly in the middle of the room. As she neared him, she took the necklace from her hand, easily opening the latch. Taking each end in either hand she held it around her, turning around just as she reached him and holding them out to Remy to fasten up. She didn't wear the necklace often, but tonight she felt like having something dear to her close to her heart. He duly obliged; removing his hands from his pocket and stepping closer to her, being careful not to let the cigarette that hung from his mouth get too close to the back of her neck or hair. Silently, he refastened the silver latch, though despite his dexterous fingers, he still found it fiddly. A shiver ran down Ororo's spine as his fingers brushed unintentionally against her neck, causing an acute tickling sensation to course through her like the natural electricity that she was mistress of.  
  
"Sorry." He muttered absently around his cigarette as her body shook slightly and her shoulders hitched up with the sensation. Finally, he got it closed, safe and secure. "Dere." He said in mild triumph at completion of the task.  
  
Ororo turned around, her hand instinctively feeling for the heart-shaped stone that nestled just above the swell of her breasts. "Thank-you." She said, then suddenly reached up to Remy and took the cigarette from his mouth.  
  
"Hey!" He exclaimed in perfunctory protest.  
  
She raised her eyebrow at him, holding the white stick up vertically in front of him. "You can smoke them on the roof, yes. But in here?" She went back over to her dresser where there was a large jug of water sat in an old fashioned washing bowl, the type that was more for decorative affect than proper use these days. There was a small lid on the jug, so lifting it off by the ceramic ball shaped handle, she dropped the smoke in. It hissed and spluttered in protest at its prematurely snuffed out life, but not for long. "I do not think so." She said playfully but still with the sternness of a school teacher as she replaced the lid and walked back towards him.  
  
Remy gave her his lop-sided smile as she walked past him and towards the door; her sandals tapping in a steady rhythm on the floor. As she went by he followed, saying, "Mon dieu---Remy pities de man dat marries yo'!"  
  
"Very funny---I think not!" She replied as she started down the stair case, Remy close behind her, laughing lowly.  
  
* * *  
  
A meat hanger in Natchez, Mississippi...  
  
Jean-Luc LeBeau balled his fist, slowly grinding it into the cupped palm of his other hand. The cold of the huge steel hanger was being to seep through in spite of the leather of his gloves thick bulk. He brought his joined hands up to his face, touching them contemplatively to his dry lips. Waiting tentatively for their proposal he was on tenterhooks. Whatever the price of loyalty, it would surely carry a heavy price. Clans didn't mass together on this vast scale, from across the country without something being worth the potential conflict and untold trouble. Parcheesi leant over to his left, uttering discreet words in the ear of Tyrone Macintyre to which the olive-skinned New Yorker nodded vaguely in response. His green eyes held a flicker of keen interest as he in turn uttered something inaudible to Jean-Luc's ears, with his hand raised just so, as to block his mouth and guard his privacy. Somewhere in the back of the group the dark featured girl lurked, stepping out from behind a burly San Diego guard to stand at the back of Senor Velasquez Lopez. Her face was set with the same hardness, the same quality of stone and wisdom as before, but this time she held LeBeau's attention with a quiet intensity.  
  
"Have you ever heard of The Carcoccia?"  
  
The Cajun's gaze shifted from the girl to the pock-marked Lopez, he nodded, "O' course, but it's a legen', nuhddin mor'. Why?"  
  
Lopez laughed smugly, picking up the parchment and turning it around so Jean-Luc could see it clearly. "This, my amigo, says different." He quickly studied the map that was held aloft for his examination. It was very detailed, a topographic slice of the heart of the dense rainforest, daubed with notes in Spanish some in black ink, others in a more suspicious deep red, so deep as to almost appear brown. There were three key points central to the map, written in a careful yet flamboyant hand; Sao Felix, Manuelzinho and Santa Maria das Barreiras. He recognised them as the names of three Brazilian cities. The various locations formed a kind of rough isosceles triangle and in its centre was a symbol of an eye set in a triangle of its own. Around it were several delicate and intricately drawn roses that entwined and embraced each other with their blood drawing thorns and suffocating vines. It looked like an icon of the Catholic faith; equal parts reverence and death. In the bottom left hand edge, that had been badly withered away he could just about make out the date 1896, though its inscription was now faint. "This," Lopez began with a certain...veneration in his tone, "is the final key for the superiority of the Thieves over the Assassins." He turned the map back around to face him, casting over it greedily. "In my hands is the way to the ultimate elixir... the legendary Carcoccia."  
  
"And your boy is gonna get it for us." Macintyre said with a confidence that had its heart based in indisputable fact.  
  
Jean-Luc remained stern, although inside, he'd seen enough in his life to know that the existence of such an object as the Carcoccia, a tale of which had passed through the Thieves ranks generation, after generation, after generation, could be entirely plausible. If the myths and stories were true, Lopez would right, it would end all conflict between them and their arch-rivals for good; with the Thieves resounding victory no less. Such a thought invigorated LeBeau's mood but it was tempered with his ever present sense of restraint and caution in such matters. The power that it would grant to whose hands it fell into would be immense. Enough to tear ALL the Guilds asunder forever. And so he kept cool about the idea and even more so about their stipulated condition. "Why yo' wan' Remy?" He asked, looking at each in turn. "As far as yo' concerned, he no better dan an Assassin 'imsel', a no good traitor. If dis so importan', why yo' wan' an excommunicated t'ief to get it."  
  
Carla Erdington offered an answer for that one, delighting in it. "The journey is treacherous." She quirked her thin lips at the corners, wisps of her blond hair clinging to their moist curves. "We see this as the ultimate test of your loyalty."  
  
"And as a stinkin' mutie," Carter Barenboim cut across, " though we hate to entertain the idea, but he's probably got a better chance of surviving the task than most. But if not," he shrugged nonchalantly, "we'll send a second expedition---either way it's no loss." There was something distinctly strange about that excuse. It simply didn't add up. But Jean-Luc didn't voice his concern.  
  
"So there you have it Senor," Lopez leant forwards, regarding his supposed 'brother-in-arms' darkly, "we will have your answer now---is it to be loyalty to your clan and true kin, as you swore a sacred oath to do when you took up leadership of the New Orleans chapter?" he intertwined his fingers as his thick brows creased, "Or do you prove to us that your favour still lies with the Judas that you would dare call a son?"  
  
If he were to be asked a million times over, there was only one answer that Jean-Luc LeBeau could ever entertain an idea of giving. He'd staked his position on the day that he sent the boy that he'd raised as his own, that he couldn't have loved more if he had been his own flesh and blood, packing. Flung from the only family he had ever known for nothing more than youthful indiscretion and hotheadedness. He had let the clan down certainly, but there was never anything malicious in his failure. But to dishonour the Guild was simply a charge from which there was no return and it was one that Jean-Luc was staring head-on right at this moment. There really was only one answer... "I'll do what need t' be done...fo' de sake of de Guild." The words burned his throat, but he meant every last one.  
  
"Good." Said Macintyre, "'cause some of my people are going to collect him," he brought his watch up to eye-level, "right about now."  
  
With that the gathering started to disperse, amongst a spontaneous eruption of hushed mutterings, respectful handshaking and the echoing scrapes of chair being pushed backwards across the frosty concrete floor. The girl with the old eyes broke away from the group as they conversed between themselves on parting, heading straight for Jean-Luc. Put as she passed Lopez he stopped her with a hand to her arm. Whispering a few swift words in her ear, he rolled the parchment up and slotted it with the utmost care into a wooden tube that bore carved inscriptions on its outside. Placing a lid firmly on its top he handed the cylindrical piece of aged mahogany to the girl.  
  
"You should go straight back to New Orleans now Senor, and await your son there." She said with her wise voice as she approached him, offering out the tube. He didn't respond; simply taking what was being handed to him and turned slowly around, heading out the way he came through; parting the hanging carcasses, his watchful protectors close behind.  
  
* * *  
  
The five X-Men stepped out the grand front doors of the mansion chatting amiably amongst themselves about the type of inane drivel that was actually a luxury to them. In their line of work it didn't happen all that often, that they could discuss stupid, trashy sitcoms they'd seen last night on Fox, instead of how to head off the next round of mutant extermination plots. It was only a fifteen minute walk at most to their regular haunt, Harry's Hideaway; tucked safely on one of the wooded back roads that could be found all over Westchester County. The night air had cooled considerably; one or two stars had pierced their way through the black velvet curtain. But Jean, Scott, Hank, Remy and Ororo were still dressed lightly, without the need for jackets. Going along the asphalt driveway and through the main wrought iron gates, the group walked for a short time on the main street-lamp lit road before turning off down a more secluded track.  
  
"How're things 'Ro?" Jean asked as she dropped into stride with her best friend, the other three lagging a few yards behind; discussing last nights big game on the T.V.  
  
"Fine." She replied sincerely. They walked on for a while without saying another word, listening to the woodpigeons cooing in the darkness and the boys waxing lyrical about some player that had had a killer game last night, although Gambit wasn't that much of a sports fan and was just joining in with the odd deadpan or thinly disguised sarcastic comment for the sake of it. He'd never quite been into the jock mentality.  
  
"So do you think you've settled back in?" Jean asked, trying to foster the conversation again.  
  
"Jean," Ororo said lightly, "there is no need for you to feel bad." She was perfectly aware of what she was up to. Turning to the side, she offered her good friend a genuine and warm smile.  
  
"I know 'Ro," she began, still sounding regretful, "but---."  
  
"There are no 'buts'," Storm interjected, raising a hand to stop Jean in her tracks, "I was surprised and dismayed, I will admit. But I will not let such a petty grievance get to me." She said adamantly, but no enough to convince Red completely.  
  
"That's all very well and good 'Ro," she said as she looked across at her; Storm's white hair cutting a stark contrast in the darkness of the unlit road; her short locks appearing the blue of snow shadows. "But I can't pretend to have noticed that your homecoming has been less than...joyful."  
  
"Almost nothing is quite as it was, Jean."  
  
"I know that, but the mansion is your home," Jean said insistently, like she wanted Ororo to believe it with all her heart, not just say it like an empty promise. "I mean, you have no idea what it's been like for me without you," she began, suddenly much more jovial, "with only Frost and the Giggle Girls; Jubilee and Paige, to constitute female company!" They both laughed; the soothingly relaxed sound echoing amongst the trees. Jean linked her left arm through Ororo's right. Giving it an affectionate tight squeeze she announced, "You have no idea how much I've missed you!"  
  
"And I you!" She said fondly, for in spite of having her 'break-away' team around her for all those months, every single one of them a close and trusted friend in their own ways, she had felt isolated as their leader. It was a completely different experience from having been co-leader. Now she truly knew how Scott must have felt for years and understood completely the bond that had grown between him and Jean. When one lead, there had to be someone there you could lean on. And in truth, Ororo had nobody like that, she never really had. Though someone came pretty damn close...  
  
"There've been changes, yes. But things will settle down eventually, I'm sure of it." Jean said earnestly, convinced of that truth.  
  
"Yes." In all honesty she was tired of thinking about it now, she just wanted, for a change, to put Xavier, the mansion and everything else out of her mind. Though, her several attempts to do so had so far been abortive. The sound of a quickened step crunching on the gravel suddenly compelled both women to look over their shoulder. Remy was walking faster to catch up with them, hands in his pockets, lopsided grin; the red of his irises positively glowing in the dimness. He'd obviously had enough of hearing about whatever team it was and their big hitter for one night; so uninterested was he that he couldn't even remember what sport they'd been talking about never mind the name of the team.  
  
Coming up around the other side of Ororo from Jean, his long legs falling easily into their pace. "What're yo' two crowin' abou'?"  
  
"Very charming!" Jean exclaimed, at his unusual lack thereof. She ducked her head out as they walked, throwing him a mock dirty look from around the barrier of Ororo. All he did was smile, answering her with the most charm- dripping one he could muster.  
  
The red-head narrowed her emerald eyes playfully at the gesture, as Ororo replied to his uncouthly worded question, "Nothing important."  
  
As they walked on, coming to a gentle bend on the rough track, the lights of the tavern just came fleetingly into view; peeking through the gaps in the trees and their leaves. The crescent moon burned brighter than ever now as it hung in its domain, lighting the path ahead of them with much more lustre than before. Each little stone, each upturned root that would trip or hinder lit with the Luna orbs pale blue brilliance. Remy kicked absently at the lose stones that did happen to cross his path, causing them to bounce and skitter along the road. Storm and Jean began to chatter about something or other, he found himself paying as much attention to its finer details as he had Scott and Hank's conversation; that is to say, more-or- less none at all. He still felt a little restless, that he had to admit, but being with Ororo on the roof earlier had taken some of the edge off it. It was amazing how she always had that effect on him, just by being near. Then his mind turned grudgingly back to his current dilemma. All this time and nothing to do, he thought to himself wryly, for since he'd been back, nobody had really talked to him about his loss of power and how that would effect his role on the team. The issue had not risen because things had been so quiet for the X-Men lately, but Remy could help but get the distinct feeling that people were ducking the subject. What did a mutant without his powers have to offer the X-Men? Especially now they'd gone mainstream media. As nothing had been said, he couldn't answer, all he did know was his feeling of being on the outside looking in; never really being a true part of the clan had become much more acute because of it. But not even Storm appeared to have made that link yet and all Xavier had done since his return was to offer him a teaching post. An idea he'd laughed at so hard it had taken him a while to compose himself to turn the Professor down formally. An act that had not impressed the school head one little bit. Although, Remy would be the first to admit that being on Xavier's good side had never been his strong point.  
  
Without warning, a random twinge ran through the pulled shoulder that he'd damaged in the Danger Room during the tag game with Iceman, who incidentally was the first person to have mentioned his power loss without feeling awkward about it. The way the others danced around the subject anyone would have thought he'd lost a limb. Though, in truth, at times he felt like he had. Again the sharp pain shot through the muscle in his left shoulder, this time severe enough to make his grumble with the discomfort as he tried a small rotation of the area to ease it out.  
  
"Remy?" Ororo said, concerned, "Are you okay?"  
  
"Oui." He uttered shortly, "it jus' a twinge chere, nuhddin seriou'."  
  
"What have you done to it?" She asked, noting the place his trouble seemed to be emanating from.  
  
"It nuhddin' 'Roro," he insisted, a little bit snappier than he'd intended; hating being fussed over for something so trivial, "Bobby an' me tussled in de Danger Room dat's all. I got sloppy, made a stupid mis'ake." He sniffed, appearing rather indignant, "It 'appens."  
  
Ororo took the warning, his whole demeanour telling her to back off. That was the key to their entire friendship really, knowing when to push and then when it was best to leave it. They were both the kind of people who would keep things inside when it suited them. Maybe it was a peculiar quirk of being a naturally apt thief, who could say? It was just one of the things that made them so similar; two people that to a casual observer appeared as different as chalk and cheese. Storm watched him slyly from the corner of her eye as the groups started on the incline that took the path right down to the Hideaway's door, his abrupt curtness to what was a simple act of concern only started her wondering about him again. But it didn't have long to ponder.  
  
Jean suddenly came to a halt, which consequently made Ororo pull to an unexpected stop also, their arms still linked.  
  
"What is it Jean?" Ororo asked, somewhat alarmed. The others had stopped now as well, concerned, falling instinctually into a pensive and prepared state. The red-head closed her eyes like she was concentrating; slipping her arm from Ororo's and bringing her hand fleetingly to her forehead. Her brow creased, as she murmured something as if she were talking in her sleep, distracted and disjointed.  
  
"Jean?" That was Cyclops as he came towards his wife, alternately checking her wellbeing and scanning the dark woods through his ruby lenses that turned the world a sickly yellow to his vision. He only had his slim shades on currently, not expecting to need his battle visor on a night out to the pub. He was apprehensive; if there was going to be trouble he didn't want to have to use his optic blasts unrestrained.  
  
"There's...there's someone out there." She whispered so faintly Scott and Ororo only just caught it.  
  
"What' she say?" Remy asked, looking at Scott.  
  
He ignored the question, coming closer to Jean instead, and as he took hold of her hands he asked quietly, "Who?"  
  
Jean shook her head and furrowed her ruby brows even more. Then, her eyelids swiftly flipped open like she'd just awoken from a trance as she turned to Scott with a subtle concern marring her features. "I don't know," she said, "But there are at least seven of them," she stopped, peering round at the tall black-looking trees warily, "...there all around us...but I can't tell who they are."  
  
The five X-Men naturally drifted into a kind of circle, like buffalos making a formation to protect their young. All were on high alert; Ororo focused in on the energy pattern of a cloud passing over head, stoking its reticent power. Jean attempted to get a lock on their stalkers as Scott berated himself again for his out of character forgetfulness as he fingered at the edges of his glinting shades. Beast readied himself, trying to gage the direction of possible attacks using his more pronounced senses, not quite on Wolverine's level, but adequate enough to do the job. As for Remy, powers or no powers, he was more than capable of defending himself. Nobody could question his fighting skills as less than exemplary. The atmosphere could be cut with a knife as they waited for the unseen to show themselves before Jean decided to take matters into her hands and hit out with a mild mind attack, just enough to flush them out of hiding. And it worked as with several stunned cries, figures emerged from the trees from all directions, dressed almost completely from head to toe in black. But there was a tell tale admission to their uniform that gave their identity away immediately. As Remy leapt into a forwards summersault, grabbing up a lengthy stick that had fallen from one of the branches above from the ground as he did so, he noticed the steel knee-high boots that the assailant in front of him was wearing and on the one that advanced swiftly from behind him. Another swift glance around told him that they were all sporting them. They were certainly Guild, but not New Orleans, that much he was certain of.  
  
The wind whipped up in the narrow path, courtesy of Storm as she sailed from the ground on its current, but not too high. Around six foot or so as she concentrated on bring the temperature of the air surrounding the cloud down to below zero at such a rapid rate that it burst forth a flurry of vicious hail stones. Their flow was expertly directed with a sweeping gesture of her hand towards to burly men that were heading straight for her. The brutality of the force in the hard balls of ice and the strong gust that carried them on their way as they sailed through the air being enough to knock both men from their feet. The attack was fairly restrained but they certainly wouldn't be getting up any time soon, that was for sure.  
  
"Scott! Over to the left!" Jean cried as two more attackers tried to come in on the X-Men's leader from the side. Without much time for thought as one of the men brandished a weapon from beneath his black bomber jacket, aiming it at him with the clear intention of firing, Cyclops tipped his glasses and unleashed the fury of his optic beams. A bombardment of glowing red hit the man square in the chest as it crashed from over the rim of Scott's shades. As fast as he could he attempted to push his glasses back in front of the beam, but it was hard when it was going at full flow, he even struggled to get his eyes closed to staunch it. But he managed to eventually; though with his lids shut all he could tell about the fate of the man were from the moaning, gurgling sounds that were coming from him wherever it was he'd landed. In the mean time Jean had dealt with the other man who had been similarly armed; wrapping him in a telekinetic bubble, removing his gun from him first, and then throwing him over the top of the trees. As she tossed the man as far from the fray as she could, flames poured from her like extra tendrils of her similarly coloured locks. The Phoenix Force giving extra punch to her telekinetic abilities.  
  
"So my friend," Beast began, as he pounced down in front of one who'd only just emerged from the trees on the right-hand side of the road, with his usual light-hearted banter, the kind he espoused before beating some one into an unconscious pulp. "Are you the silent meat-head type of henchman? Or I am, for a change, going to get a measure of witty converse before the inevitable pounding?"  
  
The tall pasty faced man widened his light eyes at the sight of this furry blue hulk before him, his momentary flash of abject ear being swiftly replaced by an adrenaline rush, giving him the necessary energy for foolhardy action. He rushed at Hank with the six inch bow knife, its left edge dangerously serrated, his mouth agape, screaming like a banshee in some kind of impromptu battle cry. "DIE GENE FREAK!" He roared as he ran at the X-Man, thrusting the knife forwards, more with blind hope than precision or skill. As a result the most damage he managed to inflict was to give Hank a rather closes shave on his right arm. The ever plucky Beast simply laughed, a throaty rumble, as he grabbed the man by the arm that held the knife, yanked him from the floor and flicked him over, rotating his arm around as if he were about to bowl an over arm throw. The man crashed down into the ground, his entire body connecting with the hard mud with a cracking thump. His head tilted to the side and his eyes closed as he fell into instant unconsciousness.  
  
"The meat-head type after all!" Hank mused as he looked down at his vanquished foe.  
  
All the while Remy had been engaged in hand to hand combat with the two remaining Guild members; using the thick fairly straight branch that had been to hand as a makeshift Bo staff. He too, off the ball like Scott, forgetting to bring out his weapon that usually accompanied him everywhere. The two men were coming at him from the front and behind with staffs of their own, though of the more traditional metal type. Despite there being two of them, Gambit deflected and parried their blows with efficient ease; dodging and gliding before placing well timed hits of his own. The Lucidity afforded by the Danger Room session paying off after all; even the pain in his shoulder had quieted remarkably. But as fun and distracting as leading them on a merry dance was after months of no real action, he was beginning to tire of the game, so he determined to put a stop to it and find out what the hell he was being attacked for. He was especially keen to find out seen as his attackers weren't members of his former Guild, but from another city. A familiar thought went through his head, like it did every time he appeared to be randomly set upon; #What de fuck 'ave I done now?# In all fairness, there was usually something, he mused to himself silently.  
  
"Righ'," he growled in his husky Cajun drawl, "Dat's it." Taking the stick into his left hand he spun it around with lightening speed and then thrust it backwards. Its torn raged end smashed into the face of the man behind him with a sickening squelch and breaking sound. He screamed out, clutching his hands over his face but the action did nothing to stem the flow of blood as it came in a fountain over the top; pouring out in copious amounts. Falling to the floor he thrashed in the agony of his injury; an injury that looked and felt a lot more serious than it looked. The wind was still blowing about them, though they were saved from the worst of the hail thanks to Storms tight control, as finally the fight was down to one on one.  
  
"What yo' want wit' me homme?" Remy shouted above the din of the gusts as their staffs came into contact with a satisfying *clack* and they stood more-or-less face to face; features set in grim determination. The other man sneered through his rigid lips, his teeth bared; he wasn't about to tell him. It was his preference to deliver Gambit to New Orleans himself, rather like taking his quarry. He wanted the prestige of bringing him in, whether he would have agreed to go voluntarily or not. This could have all been so easily avoided, but sometimes there was nothing Guild members liked better than putting on a show, despite their obvious penchant for discretion. He tried to lash his gleaming quarter staff at Remy as the two men fell back from each other, but the X-Man leant expertly to the side, his feet not even shifting on the floor to avoid the blow. All the action did was to make Remy's coolly harnessed patience falter a little as he gutturally muttered, "Fuck dis." At the same point he whipped his leg up, taking the other man by complete surprise as he round-housed him in the jaw, sending him reeling backwards, crashing against the trunk of a tree. His job all but done, Remy strode over to the man as he slid down the greenish coloured trunk, his head lulling down onto his chest as if he were passing out.  
  
"Oh no yo' don' mon ami." He said, his voice suddenly back to its smoothness again as he threw the now defunct branch behind him. Reaching him, Remy grabbed a chunk of the man's hair and pulled him back into a standing position. His dosing head fell back against the tree as he coughed, a smattering of blood fell from his lips, but it was hardly worth noticing as the lower half of his face was already covered from that which had poured from his nose; the steel capped tip of Remy's boot having caught it on the way round. His eyes began to flutter closed as if he were in the latter stages of intoxication and it earned him a quick, sharp slap across the face from the Cajun. "Yo' stayin' wide awake 'til yo' tell me why yo're 'ere, bas'tard." Remy jerked the man's head back further, making him observe the tight smile on his lips; a smile that had an edge of danger on it, a hint of the unknown. The bleeding man shuddered, trying to turn from those devilish eyes that fixed him intently, but being unable to. The wind had all but gone now and Remy could feel that the others had congregated around him, watching his actions closely.  
  
"We were sent by the Guild." The man blurted out, his nervous eyes travelling from Remy's face to the people over his shoulder and then hesitatingly back again. His accent identified him as a native but Remy asked anyway.  
  
"No shit!" Remy exclaimed facetiously. "Which Guild?"  
  
"The---the New York Guild---we were sent to collect you." He stuttered, the blood still pouring, running thickly down his throat. The metalic taste filled his mouth and was starting the clog his sinuses. He coughed uncontrollably, making a gagging sound. But Remy pushed on regardless.  
  
"What does de New York Guild want wit' me?" He tried to keep his voice cool, distant, but this was just the last thing he needed; another Guild joining in on the vendetta against him. He hadn't been involved in anything remotely to do with any of the Guild's for well over a year now. This was plain confusing not to mention infuriating. But he kept a tight check on that, keeping it safely below the surface.  
  
"It's not the New York Guild that wants you," he tried to continue before gagging again and this time he did bring something up, a welt of dark blood. "It's---the New Orleans that want you---we were sent to take you down there." He erupted into coughing and gagging again as Remy released his grip on his hair and let him slid back down the tree again to expel the clotting blood at his own leisure. The Cajun stood rigid, not moving from the spot were he was, as his jaw set grimly, tightening with something unspoken.  
  
Ororo took a few steps closer, trying to gage his mood, what was going through his head. She didn't now whether he was angry, just plain annoyed or reluctant at going back to New Orleans to once again help out the very people that had ostracised him. If indeed it was help they were after; sending Guild members to get him with hostile intentions didn't seem to be the best way to persuade him if that was indeed their intention. "What are you going to do Remy?"  
  
After a moment in which he made no response or gesture to answer before turning his head to look at her over his shoulder. His face held that unreadable easy expression, the type he effected when he wanted to make it clear that nothing really bothered him. Fortunately, Storm had long ago learnt to see straight through it. He shrugged nonchalantly and shook his head. Turning back to look at the man on the ground as he sat or moreover slumped there and wiped at the blood that covered his chin with a trembling hand, Remy said, "I got nuhddin' better to do chere, Remy may as well go check see wha' 'is Poppa wan'." Ororo didn't miss the grudged emphasis on the word 'Poppa'.  
  
"And who's going to sort these jokers out?" Scott called over as Remy started back up the path towards the mansion.  
  
He carried on walking straight on as he raised a dismissive hand and shouted back, "Dey got what dey want homme. Let dem take care o' demselves."  
  
Scott's eyes narrowed behind his glasses as he watched Remy go, his lips pursing. He was simply sick to death of the X-Men being dragged into matters brought about by the more---vigilantly, troublesome members of the group. They weren't created to clear up the mess left behind or that followed X-Men with shady pasts, quite frankly he'd had more than enough of it. Under any other circumstance, at any other time, he'd probably been happy to assemble the team and perhaps help with whatever it was that was going on. That was what family was for after all. But they had too many other responsibilities now. A school packed to the rafters with kids for one. They could afford to be dragged into situations that didn't really concern them. Hank wondered around from man to man to check that they were at least still breathing, which they all were; even the one that had received a raw dose of Scott's particular mutant gift. "Do you know?" He said lightly as he checked the last one, shivering under a pile of Ororo's hailstones. "I think he's right. Anyone for that drink then?" He looked around at the other three from over the top of his glasses ; Jean and Scott couldn't help but laugh with slight disbelief, though they were game for going down to Harry's anyway. But Ororo was looking up the path at the retreating back of Remy. "Ororo?"  
  
"No Hank," She said quietly, as if distracted in deep thought. And without another word she followed her best friend back up the path.  
  
"Do you think it's wise to let them go of by themselves?" Jean asked Scott as she watched Ororo jog to catch up with Remy. Then she turned to her husband, her eyes questioning and her face a picture of concern.  
  
"We can't involve ourselves in Gambit's personal problems Jean." He said seriously, but the last thing he wanted was to come across as being callous. "We have no idea what that Guild of his wants." He peered in the direction the pair had gone although they had been consumed by the dark and could no longer be seen. "If it's serious we'll be there in a flash, he knows that." He paused, frowning somewhat; his dark brows sinking to meet the sliver edge of his glasses frames. "But you know how he can be---he wouldn't ask for our help...even if he really did need it." Jean had to concede that Scott's last statement was true, Remy wasn't the type to ask for help when he needed it, it had to be forced upon him. Which is why, as they headed on to the pub as originally planned, she gained a small measure of comfort from the fact that Ororo wouldn't take no for an answer.  
  
-TBC- 


	5. Chapter5

A/N; I have to plead forgiveness for some artistic licence in this chapter (and some future ones probably). The fountain in Jackson Square is completely of my invention as is the summer carnival in New Orleans, unless there really is one in which case, it's a lucky guess! Enjoy!  
  
Chapter.5.  
  
Remy pushed open the front door roughly, not caring that it bashed loudly against the inside wall; the sound echoing in the cavernous space of the main reception area. With a deep scowl beset on his face; the blood red of his irises seeming to darken immeasurably, almost blending into the blacks, he headed straight up the main staircase practically in leaps and bounds. Taking three, sometimes four of the thickly carpeted steps at once. Ororo was not far behind as she came through the double doors that he'd left wide open. She didn't rush to catch up with him, nor had she said anything to him as they came back to the mansion; walking slightly disjointedly as they were with Ororo remaining a few yards behind. They'd looked like strangers going at the same pace; not being able to overtake but never making up the gap either. Silently she followed him up to the second floor. As she rounded the corner she just caught him going into his room; the door closing behind him with a slight muffled slam. She waited on the corner of the wide staircase for a moment, distracted by the sounds of people coming from downstairs. It sounded like the group that had gone into the town had come back early. Either that or the basket ball game had finished. Eventually the shrill sounds of laughter and playful jibes died down as the rec room door closed and the softly lit thoroughfares returned to a muted silence. When the noise had faded as rapidly as it had burst forth, Ororo made her way down the hallway to Remy's room. She didn't bother to knock; opening the door and shutting it behind her with care.  
  
He didn't turn around as she came in because he'd known she would. Grimly, he carried on setting out his stuff; black combat pants, a plain and simple black T-shirt and a pair of mid shin length paramilitary boots. He knew it made him look like he was part of some hair-brained, crazy militia but they were inconspicuous and practical. That's all he cared about. And there wasn't an 'X' in sight. He could feel her ice blue eyes burning into him from where she was leant back against the door, her arms folded over her chest. The silence was thick; the only sound was of him walking about searching in draws for small thing and then going back to set them on the bed with his uniform.  
  
"Non." He said, short and low to her rather unsubtle and unasked question as he crossed the room and yanked open his double wardrobe doors and reached in. He gave her a fleeting glance as he pulled out his long brown leather duster that had well worn patches at the elbow and on certain spots of the large collar and took it over to the bed. Opening it out almost flat he began to pick up the small paraphernalia that he'd taken from various locations in his room. Elaborately designed lock picks, miniature infra-red scanning devices and a number of other complicated looking metal contraptions, most of which could fit easily in the palm of the hand but had no obvious indications as to there uses. Remy concentrated placing them in secret pockets built into the lining of his coat as he heard Ororo moving across the room to stand by the still open wardrobe door. Her persistence in silence got to him more than if she'd argued with him about going it alone. As it was there was next to no hope of convincing her otherwise. With an exasperated sigh he suddenly straightened up and stopped what he was doing, turning to look at her with a disarming sly grin twitching at his lips; quirked at one particular end. "Non." He repeated, "Remy's doin' dis alone chere."  
  
"You do not even know what it is Remy. You have no idea what they want." She said flatly now that she'd finally decided to speak.  
  
"Exactement."  
  
"That is not an argument." She responded, folding her arms again. He wasn't going to brush her off as easily as that. But he did ignore her and continued preparing himself for whatever eventuality might come his way. Even as he was doing this he was wondering to himself why. Why? Why? Why? He'd given them everything and all he'd got in return was their distain, their hatred, their rejection and after all the years of trying to untangle himself from their mess. Yet whenever they asked him he instinctively felt duty bound to help them. Like he'd mused earlier in the evening, New Orleans ran through his blood and the city was synonymous with the Guild in his eyes. The two could never be separated. He'd accepted the X-Men's help before but in this case, no. Not even Storm could induce him to let her come along. Though he might not have the choice, he thought to himself wryly. If there was something that Ororo Munroe didn't lack it was determination. Especially when it came to helping a friend.  
  
"You can not face whatever is waiting for you alone."  
  
"Why not?" He turned to face her, his strong chin jutting out almost proudly, "I've taken on Guild shit alone befo'e an' survived chere."  
  
"Yes, but you---."  
  
"But I what?" He said sharply, his chiselled features taking on a dark edge at the implications of what she was about to say.  
  
But Ororo didn't back off or shy away from his posturing. Instead she told it to him as it was. "But you always had your powers then." She said, not holding back or feeling guilty. "Things might not run as smoothly as they have on prior occasions my friend."  
  
Remy's fingers pressed into the small code breaker he had tucked into his lightly sweating palm; the smooth aluminium felt cold against it. He squeezed his hand tighter, an involuntary motion, making the precise corners of the object dig into the skin a little. Running his tongue along the inside of his bottom teeth he threw it lightly onto the bed; the small article landing soundlessly onto the darker brown lining of his coat. "I got no choice 'Roro. Powers or non; I gotta go."  
  
"There is always a choice Remy." She insisted quietly. All he did was cast her a sceptical look from beneath his brow. "You owe them nothing."  
  
He sniffed indeterminately; he knew full well that she was right yet although she was a fellow thief at heart, she didn't understand the ties that bind in the Guild; whether they have disowned and used you or not. Not even her bond to Achmed could have been so strong. Loyalty, no matter what, was something he'd had drummed into him since he was old enough to understand such concepts, before even, to make sure it felt like second nature. That is what held the organisation together and it was a bind he could never shake off, it didn't matter how hard he tried. Ororo could never understand that, none of them could. To be loyal to an inherent dishonour didn't bode well with X-Men ethics. "You don' understand mah chere." He said; a note of dejection in his voice. He shook his head; a mass of his auburn fringe falling down to put his face in its shadow, making his right eye look entirely like a black ball. His low husk took on a plaintively guilty edge as he said, "Dere mah famille."  
  
Ororo stepped away from the wardrobe, letting her arms fall to her side as she came forwards; her beautiful face at once understanding yet hard. "We are your family." Her look bored into him mercilessly. "You owe them--- nothing." She repeated; a complete conviction in the utterance of the final word. Never-the-less it was clear that he was going to New Orleans tonight, his stubborn mind was set and the only thing she could do was go with him. Her conscience wouldn't rest otherwise.  
  
Remy shook his head again and raked his fringe back before taking up his T- shirt and combat pants from the bed. He walked quickly to his en-suite bathroom, next to the large wardrobe, passing Storm on the way without so much as a sideways glance. Ororo gave an expression of bitter annoyance once he was out of sight, the look breaking through the calmly set features she held for appearances sake. But it was only brief. It hadn't showed but it hurt her deeply to think that he still considered Jean-Luc's clan his family, perhaps over and above those at the mansion. Shaking the feeling off, she went over to the bed. Scanning casually over all the things laid out; immediately she noticed something odd about his Bo staff. She knew he had several but this one had something attached to its top; a small oblong, smooth with no outer entry points of any obvious kind. Intrigued, Ororo picked it up carefully. The ridged length of metal was compacted in at present, only a third of its potential size. Bringing it up to eye level, she narrowed her eyes slightly as she ran a finger along it. Nothing happened, so she turned it over, examining the solder joins where it had been welded on. But then she was distracted from her thoughtful examination as she heard scuffling from the bathroom and then turned to see Remy emerge in his quasi-military garb.  
  
"What is this?" She asked, holding it up to show him what she was referring to. He smiled devilishly as he clapped eyes on his new gadget. Taking it from her hands he flicked the staff out wit a zinging snap and immediately it burst into life, crackling with a bright blue electrical current at the opposite end to the box. Then with equal flourish he whipped his hand in such a way as to pull the staff back in again and the electricity ceased as if it had never been; only leaving behind a slight static in the air.  
  
"Hank." He said monosyllabically as he tossed it down onto the bed. Then he went and sat down on it, taking up his boots and pulling them quickly on. "See," he began as he reached down and started to buckle up the five straps that ran up the length of the shinning black boots; buckling them in tightly, "Remy's not so defenceless after all, is 'e now?"  
  
Ororo pouted irritably; she took offence to the tone of his voice, letting her cool mask slip a fraction. "I was not implying that without your powers your---."  
  
"I know exactly what yo' meant 'Roro." He said in such a way as to take any sting off his previous words whilst moving on to do up his second boot; the hem of his trousers tucked into them, billowing at their bottoms in true military style. "But it changes nuhddin."  
  
He stood up and went to pick up his coat, but first retrieved the code- breaker that he'd thrown onto it before and sliding into yet another inside pocket. He wasn't all that sure he'd need even half of this stuff but it was better to be prepared. With a flamboyant whip, he whizzed the coat around and slipped into it like it were a second skin; the collar flapping high about his ears. "Yo' ain't comin'. Dat's final." But as soon as he said those words he caught the look of cold defiance on her face and knew that to say anything further would be to waste his breath. There was no finality in that 'final'. So instead he picked up his modified Bo staff and hooked it into the chunky belt of his combats that also had several utility pouches attached at various points around it. He huffed sardonically as he looked down at everything on him, all the little hidey-holes and secret pockets. "I feel like fuckin' Batman wit' all dis shit." Ororo brought an elegant hand to her mouth as she tired to stifle the laugh at his wry humour. "I don' know what yo' laughin' at petite," He said gamely as he headed for the door. He turned and walking backwards with two long fingers, one half covered by his black leather glove, the other not at all, jutting in her direction, and then joked, "'cause dat makes yo' Robin."  
  
Ororo shook her head as she followed him and then offered with a rare attempt at humour on her part, "Surely, Batgirl would be a far more appropriate analogy."  
  
* * *  
  
Now that they were both primed and ready (Ororo having changed into something fairly similar and innocuous as Remy's get-up, black combats, a black vest top and leather jacket over the top, as the last thing she wanted was for Xavier to accuse her of dragging the reputation of the school into further question by going on a dubious 'mission' in her X- uniform) the pair made their way to the Professor's office at the back of the west wing. It was nearly ten o'clock now and all of the students had been sent to their dorms, whether they'd protested that they were old enough to stay up later or not. The only sound in the hallways came from their heavy boots, crushing on the thick carpet underfoot; swift, sure steps as they headed to see Xavier.  
  
"Do yo' t'ink he'll let us?" Remy asked, glancing down at Ororo as they rushed on.  
  
She made a gesture that dimpled her cheek on her left side. "I do not know, in the past maybe but," She paused, her forehead creasing slightly as if in dire thought, "we have to appreciate that the school has a very public image to maintain. Everybody recognises the X-planes these days. We have to be careful were we use them and what we use them for."  
  
Remy didn't say anything in reply but he did scowl slightly. Rules and regulations. Quite frankly he was getting sick to the back teeth with them, never really having been on to abide by them himself. All this 'public image' malarkey didn't sit well with him at all. After living his entire life in the shadows, not just as a mutant or X-Man, but as a thief as well, all this 'exposure' made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. Gambit was a man who liked to live between the veil of the outside world and the one that ran secretly abreast of it; never really being a part of either. He very much doubted that he would ever change now. Charles, Scott, Hank, Warren and Jean could have their press conferences, Mutant Rights luncheons and attend public seminars, but him? No, he liked the safety and security of the dark; the society in between societies. But which was he a part of nowadays? He couldn't be sure of the answer to that one anymore. Life was like dancing in limbo for him right now.  
  
"Remy?"  
  
Instantly, he snapped from his brooding and like he had a switch to control it his features lightened and became affable and roguish, like nothing in the world could bother him. He looked over at her expectantly as they reached the home straight towards the office. "What?"  
  
Ororo was looking at him with a vague suspicion; the dark look had vanished now so all she could say was, "Nothing." But even that held the self-same note of suspicion as her eyes. "You know you do not have to do this." She said more as a warning than a friendly reminder of their earlier conversation, suspecting, rather hopefully that he was having second thoughts.  
  
He came to a halt just before the door and just like that the affableness was gone and replaced with something much more sinister, emphasised by his dark eyes; a look that not many people saw, but Ororo had on numerous occasions, when the guard had come down and the charmers veneer had all but gone. "If you don' wanna do dis den jus' go back to de cosy life an' teach yaw kids." He didn't snap or raise his voice but it was infinitely more unsettling for that; carrying a deep growl through his drawl. But she knew better than to rise to the bait. "Remy can go wit' or wit'out yo' chere."  
  
Ororo opened her mouth to defend her position but didn't get the chance as Professor Xavier's calm and measured voice cut through their thoughts as clear as a bell to deliver a message. # Are the two of you going to come in here---or are you going to stand outside arguing all evening?# They both sent each other hard looks before going into the office; Remy, in spite of his frame of mind not forgetting his chivalrous instinct, holding the door open for the Weather Witch to go through first. Ororo searched first at the desk, her eyes automatically shifting in that direction but he wasn't there. He was over at the fish tank to the left-hand side of the office; carefully tapping the side of a small tub of flaky food, letting the red and yellow waifs fall into the water, to which the ravenous cold blooded vertebrates responded with eager, greedy bites. Light splashing emanated from the otherwise still surface of the tropically warm water as they fed. The two came fully into the room; Remy shutting the door behind him. Eventually, Xavier turned around to face his former pupils, setting the round tub down on the table that stood at the side of the long, sparsely ornamented tank; its layer of white sand at its bottom almost luminous in the tank light.  
  
"I see you are dressed to go somewhere?" He speculated knowingly as he leant lightly on his cane, held in his left hand.  
  
"Yes." Ororo said firmly, "But we need to ask something of you first." Xavier's pale eye's flicked from one to the other and back again, finally settling on Remy who was stood slightly behind Storm. There was something in Charles demeanour that said he was waiting for the Cajun to ask. He didn't need to be a telepath to know whatever this was that it probably had more to do with Remy than it did Ororo. There was no anger in the thought or fatherly disapproval, just an intuitive knowledge of his closest and best. They were still his X-Men at the end of the day. Well, that's how he felt at any rate.  
  
Remy stepped forwards, thinking that the request would bode better coming from him as it was for his need that they were asking. A times he could read Xavier like a book. "I---We---need t' borro' one o' de mini-jets." It irked him a little inside to ask, not when he was so use to just taking what he needed, when he needed it.  
  
"What for?"  
  
"Look, if it gone' be a problem, Remy can sort somet'in' else out." Ororo threw him a sharp look for being so quick to jump into the offensive but he didn't relent.  
  
"We need to get to New Orleans. Tonight if possible." She said cordially, trying to head off any confrontation before it even got started. But with Remy in the mood he was in she feared it may be useless to even bother. She was beginning to notice that his blood was up at a moments warning these days; a change in persona that she was starting to find mildly alarming.  
  
"Ah," Xavier made the sound in a very deliberate way, "The infamous Guild." He surmised; a not-out-of-place hint of amusement on his lips.  
  
Charles had barely finished the sentence when Remy mumbled, almost under his breath, "Dis is a waste o' time." Then started for the door but stopped when Ororo called out;  
  
"Wait Remy!" Then she turned to the Professor again, "It is probably nothing, but Remy needs to get down there as soon as possible and find out what is going on. I also thought it best that I accompany him."  
  
"What about your classes Storm?"  
  
She looked at him in the kind of disbelief that quickly turned reproachful; her earlier upset coming back to her, but now was not the time for discussing it. "I am sure we will be no longer than a day Charles." She tried her hardest to say the words civilly, shocked that he was being almost petty; her well worked control coming into practice once again. "Surely you or Jean can cover my classes until then."  
  
"I'm sure we can, but we are running a school here, along much more traditional lines than we have ever before." He said in stern Headmaster mode, continuing, "We can not let personal dilemmas get in the way of the children's education---certainly not by matters which concern such disreputable organisations. For the sake of the school, we can no longer afford to be involved."  
  
Remy got the message, he got it loud and clear. Internally he fumed, certain that Xavier would pick up the emotional residue of such a keen feeling, even if he wasn't reading his mind. Something inside him clicked into motion; it felt like this was the last straw and he could no longer help but vent his frustrations. "So what're yo' sayin' homme?---Hien?!" He spat; his drawl becoming thick and much more husky. He splayed his arms out wide in dramatic gesture, "Remy's not a mutant no more, an' he not one o' yaw precious teachin' staff. So what is 'e now? Nuhddin' but a no good, two bit t'ief?" His arms dropped back to his sides; the leather of his coat making a smacking sound as they hit his body.  
  
"Remy stop, this is not helping matters." Storm tried to reason with him, calm yet stern, but he was having none of it. It was like everything he'd wanted to say but had only thought thus far was spewing forth in an uncharacteristic torrent of anger.  
  
"No Stormy!" He shot at her and then faced the Professor again, "Dis needs sayin'." He cocked his head petulantly to the side, "I ain't nevah been de type o' X-Man yo' wan'ed at de school 'ave I Charlie-boy?" He took a couple of paces back and forth as if to work of the physical sensation of the anger that raged through him now that he'd really let rip. "I ain't repentant enough, is dat it? Or is jus' dat now Gambit's o' no use to de team, he don' need t' be at de mansion no more?"  
  
So far Charles had bore all of this stoically, like he was letting him get it out of his system. But he would put up with being spoken to so harshly or to be so disrespected in his own house. "That is enough LeBeau." he said; warningly deceptive in his soft timbre. "You have to appreciate our position."  
  
Finally Remy stood stock still; dark eyes fixed on the other man, his darker shade of auburn brows arching down so low they shielded the eyelids. He held Charles in that piercing lock with devilish orbs for what seemed an eternity before turning on his heal and leaving. But he didn't storm out like an adolescent in a 'hissy-fit', but moreover left with a dignified tread. As if to prove he wasn't running from anyone or anything. Ororo waited for a moment, almost numb at what was transpiring here. When had things become like this? Bringing herself together she started to leave.  
  
"Ororo?"  
  
She was facing out of the door when she stopped, her right hand gripping on the doorframe. Without looking behind her she said, with a note of dismay in her voice, "I thought we were here to help each other no matter what Charles---Remy is still an X-Man and if none of you are prepared to help him then I will have to---alone." With that she started out of the room, not looking back.  
  
Charles closed his light eyes and sighed. He couldn't stop the sense of being a father failed from flooding over him. At times he felt himself a poor model, perhaps a little over stern for his own good. But when such great responsibility rested on his shoulders and his shoulders alone, he had to think of the greater good. With another resigned sigh he walked slowly, with the aid of his cane back over to the fish tank.  
  
* * *  
  
They worked in complete silence as they entered their access codes and passwords into the mainframe of the computer system that guarded security in the hangar bay. Registering themselves down for one of the three mini X- jets that Xavier now possessed; hidden safely away in an underground hangar. There was no need to discuss it any further, their pact had become a silent one the moment they had walked out of there and taken it upon themselves to use the X-jet without Xavier actually having given them permission. He'd set his stall out and now they'd set theirs. If this was the way it had to be then...so be it.  
  
The second set of plexy-glass doors that separated the computer booth, the final stage in the security procedure, from the actual steel hangar opened up with a slow mechanic grinding; sliding into the side of the thickly reinforced walls of the bay. They walked confidently over to the jet, not an ounce of doubt in their respective manners. As they came up to the left flank Storm pushed an 'X' shaped button on the side of the small, black two- passenger aircraft; the first one in a row of six in total. The steel framed glass dome on top opened up gradually, a hissing of compressed air accompanying it and two ladders lowered down. They came to about four foot from the floor before the mechanism ground to a halt and the pair had to haul themselves up to make up the shortfall. Ororo climbed into the pilot's seat whilst Gambit got into the one directly behind it. As they buckled themselves in with the various safety holsters, the metal clips jangling before snapping neatly into place, the glass dome began to descend back down. It made another hissing noise as it sealed them into its air locked cavity; shutting down tight.  
  
"Ready?" Ororo asked as she began flicking several levers on the planes control panel as she placed the black rubber mask over her face as Remy did likewise.  
  
"Oui chere."  
  
"Then let us make a move." She said through the intercom as she pulled the central lever back towards her, her long legs either side of it. The full fury of the engine didn't kick in immediately as the plane pulled out of its parked position like a car, moving slowly forwards and into the central space of the large hangar. It had only recently been expanded to accommodate what could now constitute an X-fleet. With an ear spitting burst the two engines at the back erupted into fiery life; blinding yellow flame flowing from them. Within seconds the two X-Men were air born and off into the tepid, clear night, heading for New Orleans.  
  
* * *  
  
New Orleans, Louisiana, three hours later...  
  
The streets were busy; bustling with noise, colour and life and this was a week before the summer carnival was due to start. It wasn't the infamous Mardi Gras, that wouldn't happen for a few months yet, but New Orleans was a town that loved nothing more than a good street party and this present hubbub was the start of one of many off season carnivals that happened throughout the year. The tourists had already arrived in droves and various kinds of music seemed to pulsate from every nook and cranny of the French Quarter as a myriad of languages assaulted the ears with their loud timbre and shrill intoxicated squeals. The party atmosphere was as thick and hot as the still August air as party boys honked and hollered at passing women who returned drunken affections with a lucidity that wouldn't have been found at any other place or any other time in the world as it was around these parts when a parade was immanent. The spice in the air made people relaxed and carefree; the Big Easy came into its own at moments such as these and Remy drank it in at his leisure.  
  
It had been many years since he'd been here at carnival time and the beginnings of the scents, sights and sounds brought all sorts of memories flooding back like a refreshing dip in the ocean; some good, some bad, most X-rated. He smiled; that beautifully lop-sided smile that gave him the dark dimples down the sides of his mouth as he and Ororo waited at the corner of the magnificent Jackson Square, just on the edge of the throng of revellers. It was one thirty in the morning and the party showed no sign of slowing. Slowing? It had only just gotten started...  
  
"Is it always like this?" Ororo asked; having to lean in over to Remy as they sat on the edge of a large fountain and shout the question into his ear as a car full of frat boys zoomed past them down the broad Decatur Street singing at the tops of their voices, some idiotic drinking song.  
  
Remy smirked and his head jerked back a little with a short silent laugh. "Yo' jus' wait a week, den yo'll see what Nawlins is really like." He gave her a mischievous wink that had something of the lascivious in it, he couldn't help himself. "But it won't be a patch on de real Mardi chere."  
  
"Hopefully we will be long gone by then."  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"Nothing." She hadn't meant him to hear anyway in truth.  
  
He laughed lightly, guessing the tone of her statement by her body language; ridged and a little too up-right. "What's wrong mah padnant? Hien?" He leant towards her, giving her an affectionate nudge with his shoulder. "Yo' not like a good party?"  
  
"I enjoy a good party as much as the next woman Remy," She replied, a little twinkle sparking in her stunning blue eyes. Her lips produced a slow smile that hinted at something concealed beneath its surface. "Maybe I should take you to Tokyo and then we will see who the real 'firebug' is."  
  
Remy wet his lips slightly, the heat making them sticky. He turned the top half of his body towards her, his manner relaxed and easy for the first time since they'd landed. "Is dat a challenge 'Ro?" He asked; his voice seductively low, holding her gaze steadily.  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Den mebbe Remy'll take yo' up on it, girl." He reached over to her and clasped lightly at her chin, resting is thumb ever-so-lightly on her full bottom lip. His eyes flickered leisurely over her face before moving off to gaze over her right shoulder. What he saw there caused his pupils to dilate slightly, widening black holes in the red mire, as that wicked little smile of his widened. Taking his scarlet and ebonies back down to Ororo, he said, with a disarming softness, "Or mebbe yo' could jus' show Remy righ' now."  
  
Ororo gave him a suspicious smile as he brushed his thumb on her lip before taking her face away from his hand and turning around to peer over her shoulder at what he'd seen that made his eyes light-up so. Immediately she uttered a short knowing laugh through closed lips as her gaze fell on a couple making-out across the other side of the fountain. They were so enraptured in each other, arms and legs mimicking octopuses, that it seemed to have escaped their attention that they were still in a public place; their actions nothing short of advanced foreplay.  
  
Storm turned back to her companion and shook her head, giving a slight roll of her eyes. "Is there ever anything else on that mind of yours my friend?"  
  
"What can I say chere?" He said over the sound of the crowd and roar of the rushing fountain as he leant back from her, placing a hand over his heart in mock modesty, "When Remy gets down 'ere---an' in de company of such beauty, if I may be so bold t' say---it does t'ings to 'is mind."  
  
She laughed, "And what is your excuse for the rest of the time?" Her stomach fluttered a little as he fixed his eyes on her again and for a moment a certain look passed through them, mercifully brief. But as soon as it had come it disappeared, leaving her to believe that it had never been there at all. She turned away from him and stood up from the smooth stone edge of the huge fountain with its beautiful mermaid idol adorning its centre, surrounded by dolphins and lesser nymphs in rhapsodic dance, turning her attention to the mass. Crowds weren't her thing which is why Remy suggested they sit here on the perimeters plus it would make their task easier. When she'd asked what exactly that task was he'd given her non- committal look and then sat on the fountains edge, casually lighting yet another cigarette. They'd been here for an hour now, sat more or less in silence, not really conversing much until just now, idly watching the world go by to all outward appearances. Every now and then Ororo's mind drifted to the X-jet, hoping that where they'd concealed it out by the swamps would be safe. But Remy had assured her that whenever he'd 'borrowed' any of the X-jets in the past that was where he always stashed them. She'd asked how many times he'd taken jets without permission and he'd simply winked that mischievous wink and tapped the side of his nose a couple of times; the implication clear.  
  
"What are we waiting for Remy?" She turned back around to face him, certain now that there was no sign of a dark flush in her cheeks that she had been positive had stained her cheeks moments ago, prompting her to move away from Remy's side. Though now she felt a little foolish for having reacted like that to what for him was simply standard behaviour. At times he seemed impervious to its affect.  
  
Eventually he joined her, standing up, dropping the butt of his third cigarette to the ground and crushing it under foot as he stepped towards her. "Patience mah petite." He told her with a smile and ghosted the slightly bent fingers of his smoking hand over her cheek, filling her nostrils with the strong, heavy scent of tobacco. Unusually, the aroma made her smile; a reassurance falling over her like a warm wave.  
  
Remy walked past her a couple of yards then, looking out into the crowds of people with a thief's sharp gaze, taking note of everyone and everything about him. He didn't look at all out of place; in fact both he and Ororo appeared to be nothing more than eccentric Goths, here for the festivities in their black combat gear, multi-buckled boots, leather coats and respectively odd eyes. There was something strange about feeling so at ease in such a public place. It made him realise it was one of the things he missed the most about being a part of this city; he had always fit in here, like hand in glove. His stomping ground, his island, he craved its hot, sultry hold. Turning in a slow circle, his red eyes roamed over the people, trees, cars, the banners and reams of create paper in the purple, green and gold colours of the true carnival hanging from anything that stuck out. The mighty Mississippi ran across the other side of Decatur in the distance, looking like a river of black liquid with white lights floating in it; one of the world-famous Riverboats pulled out of dock, gliding with its shallow bottom effortlessly along the great expanse of black and glittering velvet. Eventually they fell on the towering spires that shadowed the space. The centre piece of the square would not have looked at all out of place in the Black Forests of Bavaria with its tall spires and conical turrets.  
  
Suddenly he spied a man coming along the pavement from the left, brown corduroy jacket, hands planted firmly in its deep pockets, a mass of liquorish curls falling about his pale and drawn face, cutting a purposeful swathe through the drunken, stumbling and jeering crowd. Narrowing his vision, he focused all of his attention, inclining his head to the side as he moved forwards slightly. In fact, Remy kept such a close eye on the man heading towards him that it sent a jolt of shock right through him when someone crashed into him from behind.  
  
" Hey! Faire attention a! Idiot!" He called after the boy, slipping without thinking into French, but the little scamp shot off without a word and was soon swallowed up by the heaving throng, not giving Remy a chance to get a proper look at him. He muttered a Cajun profanity under his breath as his hand delved into both his pockets automatically, already aware of what he'd find there. The man with liquorish curls glanced up at him in passing but carried on without stopping. Remy turned, watching him go past before his attention went back to his pockets and just as he suspected, there was something in his left one that wasn't there before.  
  
Ororo walked over to him as he pulled a small folded up slip of paper from his pocket; she looked back at the man and then forwards to where the boy had been. She had seen about of much of him as Remy had; that is to say nothing more than a blur of mousey hair and tatter denim rushing past like a lightening bolt.  
  
"What is that?" She asked as he unfolded the paper. Something dropped out of it into his hand but with a swift movement his fingers closed over whatever it was and slipped it deftly back into his pocket. She didn't ask, instead coming closer to see what was on the rough edged piece of paper; their task apparently completed. There was no such thing as simple communication within the Guild. It appeared that it was all a bit 'cloak- and-danger'.  
  
"See, dey want me, dey find me." He chided lightly for her lack of faith in his methods. His eyes flicked quickly over what was written before he spoke the words out loud. "Silver's Pawn Shop." He huffed as if amused, "No' very subtle, hien?" He muttered. Then as soon as he said it he looked over his shoulder to the left and the right as he took the red plastic throw-away lighter out of his cigarette packet and then set the slip of paper alight. The fire made remarkably swift work of it; the curled ashes floating to the ground like a desolate skeleton leaf, no wind present to scatter them on their way.  
  
"Where is that?" She asked as she pulled her leather jacket up a little at the shoulders, lifting it from sticking to her skin. It was so humid that even she, mistress of the weather was feeling the sting somewhat.  
  
"No' far," he said distractedly as he looked about him for the hundredth time. He didn't like it that that little sneak had been able to get to him like that, but then he thought wryly at least the Thieves were still training them just as good as back in the day. "It's a few blocks up---come on." Remy started into the thick of the crowd then, intending to make a short cut across the square, giving Ororo no choice but to brave her fear of confinement and crushes and head off after him.  
  
* * *  
  
A tiny bell tinkled pathetically as Remy pushed open the door to the pawn shop with its huge iron grates over it and its large display windows. They were windows and defences that said: you can look but you dare try to steel anything and I'll blow your fucking head off. The shop, which was fit to bursting with it collected booty, garnered from the misery of sad and desperate people, was empty of customers, open for this specific reason alone perhaps. Only a withered old man, perhaps in his late sixties with his thinning white hair combed over a sore and red scorched scalp, stood in his own little fortress set into the wall opposite the door.  
  
Storm came in after Gambit, inadvertently letting the door fall shut noisily, setting the bell off into raptures once more and making the iron grating rattle. She looked up at the shop owner, ready to apologise but the words stuck in her throat when she noticed the gleam in the old man's eyes as he looked over at the pair. A shinning light of fear flickered through those worn grey orbs with their folds of skin hanging over and underneath them like rain heavy canopies. She looked in vague confusion over at Remy but he either hadn't noticed the brief flicker or didn't seem to think it was anything out of the ordinary as he approached the man, fortified in the iron grated box that was lined inside with bullet-proof glass.  
  
Going into his left pocket, Remy retrieved whatever it was that had been concealed in the clandestine note. As he stood right before the old man's box, poker-straight with his six foot four frame towering over him, he suddenly laid his hand down flat under the 'mouse-hole' shaped opening in the glass and iron bars. The object in his palm banged against the glass counter as he put it down and slid it across, its high pitched noise indicating that it was a coin of some kind or a something metal at any rate.  
  
"LeBeau." Remy said quietly and then murmured something in Cajun for the man's ears only; Ororo not quite being able to catch it, though over the years he had taught her a phase or two; mostly expletives admittedly. She looked at the shop keeper again and once more, there in his eyes and this time in his whole stance was that fear as he peered up at Remy, whose own features were set unusually hard, unforgiving almost.  
  
"Wait one moment Monsieur." His voice trembled slightly as he disappeared out back, bumbling his way with some haste through the heavy door behind him.  
  
Remy stood still, waiting patiently for him to return as Ororo ran her eyes over her badly lit surroundings; everything from guns to kid's bikes, gold necklaces to gas fires filled the shop. Not much of it looked worth much money though, but their original owners would still have to pay through the nose if they wanted any of it back; junk r not. After a few brief moments in complete silence save the noise of the ceiling fan whizzing around in its never-ending cycle, the old man reappeared with a large brass key in his hand. Without hesitation he handed the elaborately shaped length of metal over to Remy, slipping it through the almost hand sized opening and then gestured with his arm over to the wall on the right hand side of the shop. After this silent transaction, he appeared to shrink back from the front of the box.  
  
"Merci." Remy said shortly, looking over at the wall he'd pointed to, which was as junk-laden as every other surface before returning his gaze back down to the man. He nodded and then started over towards the wall.  
  
Ororo was already over that side of the small shop and it only took a couple of Remy's long-legged strides to join her. She watched him as he surveyed it, stepping close, his hands ghosting over the knick-knacks stacked on shelves in light exploration. His breathing was quite audible as he concentrated, almost heavy but converted quickly into a short sigh of triumph as his hands happened upon what he was looking for. Taking the key in his right hand he slipped it into what seemed to the casual eye just a black void next to a sealed glass case full of the more down market range of jewellery (the good stuff being kept in the box with the owner or out back in a safe). But there was the distinct sound of a lock being undone as the case started to come away from the wall. The secret door swung back slowly and without sound, revealing a long tunnel.  
  
Ororo swallowed hard; the only visible sign that her heart was pounding like a jack-hammer. But she fought the fear down, her control of it much more certain than it had been in days gone by. Though it was still there and always would be, trapped in a dark corner of her mind.  
  
Remy looked down the tunnel and then back at Ororo, "Yo' can wait 'ere chere, it no problem." He said quietly, as if he didn't want the old man to hear.  
  
Ororo shook her head resolutely, "I am coming with you." She swallowed again but found her mouth dry, through the heat as much as her fear. "I will be fine." All the time her eyes fixed the black hole, only the first few yards of the corridor gaining any light from what meagre amount emanated from the shop.  
  
"Den let's go." He made to enter before turning to her again with a smile, which had a more tender and comforting appeal than usual, "Don' worry girl-- -Remy's wit' yo'." Holding out his hand to her she took it unthinkingly, not letting pride get in the way as they stepped into the darkness.  
  
-TBC-  
  
What do you think? Feel free to let me know. All suggestions welcome! 


	6. Chapter6

Thank-you Sophia, Tania, Tete and Es for the kind reviews.  
  
Just a bit of French again in this chapter; 'Enquiquiner'= Bother, pest.  
  
'Traitresse'= Treacherous  
  
'Cochon'= Pig  
'Mont-de- piété'= Pawnshop  
  
Chapter.6.  
  
Her throat was still dry and she was compelled to blink back the water that was starting at the corners of her eyes. They weren't tears as such, more a symptom of her nervous reaction as her orbs widened in an attempt to see in the consuming gloom. Her hand gripped of its own volition to Remy's and she received a brief squeeze of reassurance back from him but it did little to still her beating heart. Ororo's sense of apprehension weighed heavy on Gambit's mind as he searched his way forwards, their footsteps sounding all the more hollow for the dark. He was perfectly aware that she could handle herself, but it didn't stop him from worrying about her. After all, she was only down here because of him. As they moved on quickly in the suffocating silence, her free hand crept up to her neck; gloved fingers reaching like long tendrils to close over the heart shaped sapphire that still hung about her. She pressed her fingers tightly around Piotr's precious keep-sake as her eyes squeezed shut briefly; it gave her a measure of comfort to feel it in her covered palm, the chain hanging cold and hard against the hot skin of her exposed neck. The moisture that had collected in the corners of her eyes ran warmly down her cheeks in a slow trickle, forcing her to release the necklace so that she could wipe them away swiftly, for although there was no way he could see in this light, she didn't want Remy to think that she was crying...because she most certainly wasn't.  
  
"Yo' okay?" He turned his head in her direction at the sound of her gloves brushing against the skin of her cheeks.  
  
"Yes."  
  
They carried on in silence for a little while longer; the corridor never seeming to come to an end in the blackness. Remy tried to think of something to say to perhaps take her mind off of where she was. If she had something else to concentrate on then maybe she'd forget about the narrowness of the tunnel for a while. "It not like de old days no more."  
  
"What?" She replied as if distracted.  
  
"All dis runnin' around to back-street pawn shops." He waved his free hand in indication of his surroundings but of course, it was too dark for her to see what he did, but she didn't feel the stir in the air that the motion caused. "Dere used t' be t'ree meetin' places for de Guild, official meetin' places. One out by de Bayou an' two near de swamps. No messin' around wit' secret rooms under no goddamn Mont-de-piété." He said the last part almost resentfully. She didn't say anything so he just continued, simply in the hope of keeping her attention. "But de Guilds, both T'ieves an' Assassins, dey don't own Nawlin's like dey used to. De people, dey jus' won't tolerate it."  
  
"But they still fear you." She said suddenly, her tone flat and matter-of- fact.  
  
"Hmm?" He looked over his shoulder briefly, as she was trailing him somewhat, just about making out the sharp white line of her hair. "What yo' mean girl?"  
  
"The shop keeper." Remy made an indistinct noise, so she continued, "He was scared of you---terrified in fact. What reason would he have to be so fearful of a mere thief?"  
  
Remy chewed his lip a little, feeling guilty about the smile that was creeping onto them, trying to halt it. He had no right to be proud about what he was going to say. "We may no' be Assassins chére, but dat don' mean we a soft touch."  
  
"From the behaviour of the New York Guild, I would say not." She cut in sardonically, not at all impressed with the idea of the Thieves being as bad as Assassins.  
  
"People in dis town live by a different way of life 'Ro." He said by way of explanation, almost trying to plead the Thieves case. "Dere are t'ings dat 'ave gone on fo' generations an' some people, like 'im upstairs, still live by dose old rules, even if mos' people are gettin' wise t' dem. So if de T'ieves say dey want somet'in' from yo', yo' give it, no questions."  
  
"And so they live in your shadow, afraid of the consequences if they do not do as you say." She completed his sentiment, with distain, some of the steel returning to her voice.  
  
"I know chére, I know," He professed, regretfully. "It stinks---but dat's jus' de way it is." After a thoughtful moment he added, "Who are we t' argue, hien?"  
  
"Who indeed."  
  
They came to a corner, navigating it carefully only to be confronted with yet more darkness of a much more definite pitch than before. Remy winced inwardly at the sound of Ororo taking in a sharp breath that she'd obviously tried to stifle. But she failed to stop herself in time; the stale air rushing in with a harsh rasp. He stopped, letting her come up to his side as she had been lagging behind him a step or two. Taking his left hand from her grasp, with some difficulty, she had begun to grip it with such virulence, and instead, he wrapped his arm about her waist and took up her hand again with his right one as if guiding her. "I got yo'." He whispered tenderly near her ear, his lips ghosting over them, light as the air that flowed from his softly spoken words. She blinked her eyes again and nodded as he began to move them forwards, at a slower pace than before.  
  
"So, when we goin' t' Tokyo den?" He asked out of the blue to distract her again. It seemed to have worked so well the last time, he thought he'd try his luck again.  
  
"I do not know." She replied unsurely, trying and failing to hide the quiver in her voice.  
  
"Alright---den let me set a date. One weeks time?" He inquired, only to answer the question himself. "Yah. We sample a bit o' de festivities 'ere and den we go t' Tokyo an' yo' can show me wha' dey really got, chéri."  
  
"Okay." The hint of the quiver was still beneath the surface.  
  
"On one condition though, mah petit."  
  
"Oh? What?" She said with a hint of lightness returning.  
  
His brow furrowed somewhat sardonically, "Yo' keep dat 'enquiquiner' outta mah way." He growled, although it was said in good humour a part of him was serious. There were very few people who truly got on Remy LeBeau's nerves but there was a certain person in Japan was most definitely had that special...talent for it.  
  
Ororo laughed, genuinely, relaxing for a brief moment. Remy had never had too much of a liking for her close friend Yukio. To be fair, the woman would try the patient of a saint and it had taken Ororo a while herself to tune into the woman's---peculiar sense of humour and that daredevil-in-the- extreme zest for life that she wore so proudly on her sleeve. She seemed to intimidate most men, even Logan and that took some doing. "Alright, I agree. I will take you to all our old haunts in Tokyo but I will make sure I keep her at arms length from you." The hint of the laugh was still in her words.  
  
"Yo'd better." He grumbled and then laughed briefly at his own grumpiness. He didn't know what it was about that woman but she just had the uncanny knack of being able to rub him up the wrong way. There weren't many people in the world that could do that; she was certainly unique in that respect. But then just thinking about her reminded him of the occasion when he'd stitched her up in London a few of years ago and a wry smile lifted upwards in the darkness. He didn't feel in the least bit remorseful for it, he could even justify it to himself because she'd attempted to pull the same trick on him and it had obviously backfired...badly. "It's a 'date' den?" He asked suddenly, referring to the original promise.  
  
"It is a 'date'." She confirmed, feeling ten times better than she had mere minutes ago as they rounded another corner and the ground began to slope alarmingly underfoot. But at the end of this section of tunnel they were greeted by a light at the far end. Much to Storm's eternal relief.  
  
* * *  
  
It had to have been his seventieth length at least as he touched the cold, tiled rim of the swimming pool before diving back under, rolling around and starting on his seventy-first, pushing off the side with both feet like a coiled spring. The time had rolled on to nearly three o'clock, two fifty three to be more precise but the Professor hadn't noticed as he touched base at the other end of the Olympic sized indoor pool, his hand smacking down on the ridged tiles with a wet slap before going back under for more. His body ached from head to foot and even though Hank had told him that swimming was one of the best ways to get his full mobility back, he certainly wouldn't have agreed with him pushing his body this hard. He was still frail and they had yet to find the answer as to why his legs had begun working again after the trauma with Cassandra Nova. But he wasn't going hell for leather from end to end as merely a physical exercise, moreover a cathartic one. He did it quite often, when things were getting on top of him and he needed to simply work it all off.  
  
Was he right to let them go on their own? The question wrung in his head, doing lap after lap as was his body. Especially with Remy in his current condition, if one could call it such; a loss of power wasn't exactly terminal, but it could feel as such. He regretted now that he hadn't sat him down and talked to man, like any good surrogate father would to a son in need. He'd wanted to but things came up, time drifted on and it felt like the window had disappeared; the opportunity never arose. And over the weeks that had passed since his return he sank into defensive silence and as Xavier had then anticipated the explosion eventually came, just hours earlier. He really couldn't blame Gambit for being angry or feeling let down because in all truth he had let him down---they all had perhaps...  
  
"Don't you think you've had enough?"  
  
As Charles reached the rim again, he stopped, his eyes falling on a pair of sensible brown loafers and the slouched hem of straight, crisply ironed charcoal trousers. He gripped with both hands at the side of the pool as he looked up to see Scott Summers gazing down at him from behind ruby lenses, the shapes of his eyes just discernable through the metallically opaque red in the ever changing light.  
  
"Hello Scott." He said before wiping one hand down his face to usher off the rapidly cooling rivulets that were slow to travel. "What are you still doing up?"  
  
"I could be asking you the same thing sir." He replied benevolently as he crouched down on his haunches in front of the Professor. "But I think we'd both have the same answer to that one."  
  
"Indeed." Charles said a little grimly, his eyes casting down to the still choppy water about his chest as his breathing continued in a heaving motion from exertion.  
  
"Let me help you." Scott offered out a hand to the Professor but he shook his head, waving a hand to decline and then pushed off the side, but only with enough momentum to glide him over to the steel steps in the left hand corner. Taking hold of the middle rung he heaved his body weight up before moving his hands onto the two poles at the side of the steps and getting a foothold onto the ladders. Scott walked over to the wooden bench that ran the length of the north wall, picking up a large blue towel and taking it over to Charles who was by now completely out of the water. He'd had his cane waiting for him by the ladders so he didn't have to hobble anywhere on the perilously wet floor of the pool room.  
  
"Thank-you." He said as he took the towel, wrapping it tightly, if somewhat awkwardly about his waist; juggling the task with keeping a hold on his cane. Once he'd done that he made his way over to the bench, sitting down slightly stiffly, uttering a sigh of relief once he'd done so.  
  
"You should be taking it easy Charles," Scott joined him, taking up the vacant space at his side, a worried look on his face as he watched the Professor labouring with his respiration still. "You're pushing yourself to hard." He warned.  
  
Xavier had his eyes closed as his head rested on the cold damp tiles behind him; tilted so that his chin was half toward the stars, his mouth agape. "I'm fine Scott. Don't make a fuss over me." He waved a dismissive but weary hand in the general direction of where he thought Scott was. "But I am troubled---I shouldn't have let them go."  
  
"Let them go?" Scott said with an incredulous laugh. "You didn't let them go anywhere, it was their choice. They're both adults and more than capable of looking after themselves."  
  
"No Scott, you don't understand." He brought his head back down and turned to the side to fix Scott with his pale blue eyes. "I've lost my Windrider once---I don't want to lose her again." He shook his head a little, his face taking on a not often seen fretful look, "If I can help it, I don't want to lose either of them again. Remy needs time to adjust and I can't see him doing that anywhere else but here, at the mansion---with the X- Men." His head rolled over to the side after his confession to face the row of large windows on his right. The glimmer from the sickle shaped moon shone brightly in spite of its size and the early morning sky was already fading into an elegant blanket of royal blue. All was silent outside, not even the merest breeze to stir anything that grew and lived. There didn't even appear to be a single animal around the estate or beyond its boundaries off into the rolling hills of rural Westchester. "When I spoke to them," he began, his eyes still on the faint but growing light flowing in through the several vast sheets of glass, "I made excuses as to why I didn't want them to go...well, they were half truths I suppose." He fell silent again, as if contemplating what had gone on in the office before they'd left. Then turning back to look at Scott; pushing up on the bench so that his back lay flush against the cold tiles of the wall, he said, with a little irritation burning through, "Remy has worked so hard to divest himself of those people...I do not want to see him tempted back into that world now that he feels his life as an X-Man is over."  
  
"Mistakenly feels." Scott corrected as he absently nodded his head, agreeing with his mentor. He knew better than anyone; once an X-Man always an X-Man. "And for the record, I don't think he ever would---go back to them I mean. Even if that is what they want from him." He shifted position; his soles scuffing on the raised grips of the floor as he rested his weight evenly on both hands; laid flat on the condensation damp bench. "But I have to admit, I do feel a little bad about them going it alone...but the school comes first. It may have been quiet lately but we know just about anything could flare up at a moments notice."  
  
Xavier nodded in agreement and then interest suddenly piqued in his eyes as if something had sparked in his memory. "That reminds me, Warren phoned at about eleven."  
  
"Oh yeah? How are he and young Paige doing?"  
  
"Yes, they're fine." He informed him amiably. "He only phoned to say they'd be back within' the week probably and that they'd pick Jubilee up from her friends place in Chicago on their way through."  
  
"Good. The more of the team we have here the better." The leader part of his brain had been constantly worrying that they'd been rather to thin on the ground these days with all their teaching commitments and such. "And any word from Logan?"  
  
"No, I'm afraid not."  
  
"Figures." He said dryly but there was no malice in the sentiment. He looked out over the pool that was now deathly still; a solid block of ocean blue with thick black lines running through it. "If you keep regular checks on them via Cerebra," he said, going back to the matter at hand, that was concerning both men, "We can be ready at the first sign of trouble---we'll be there for them."  
  
"Yes." He agreed; his tone mild and affirming as he laid his hand on Scott's shoulder. He gave a rare warm smile, his light eyes not seeming quite as cold as they sometimes could. "Now---we should rest." Scott helped him up until he'd steadied himself on his cane. "You've got a class first thing." He stated quite matter-of-factly as they walked somewhat awkwardly towards the door.  
  
Scott looked momentarily confused as he tried to remember his roster for the following day. There was no gym or Danger Room sessions scheduled for tomorrow, to his mind anyway. "What lessons?"  
  
Charles couldn't stop a smirk as he said, "French---nine am sharp."  
  
"What?!" He exclaimed, he'd never spoken a word of the language in his life.  
  
"I'm sorry," It took his all to keep straight faced. "Did I not tell you? You have Ororo's French class until she gets back."  
  
"You've got to be kidding?" A rather perturbed Scott exclaimed, "But I can't---."  
  
"Do not worry," Charles said, lifting his right hand to quiet his erstwhile X-leader. "Ororo always keeps detailed lesson plans, all you have to do is hand them out. I'm sure the students will cope." He cleared his throat, his mirth quite obvious, "Even if you don't!"  
  
"Great." He grumbled flatly as they left the pool room to its nightly silence. But just as he thought it couldn't get any worse Xavier dropped his last bombshell.  
  
"I'll leave it to you to tell Jean she has level one Arabic at two pm." Scott groaned and then they both laughed as they left the pool house completely and made there way along the connecting thoroughfare that lead back into the mansion.  
  
* * *  
  
The New Orleans Thieves clearly still liked to convene in style; Ororo had to give them that much; even if it was deep underneath a cluttered and dirty little pawnshop. The place was set out as one would imagine a throne room to look, except it was very much sans a throne, she thought as she let her eyes roam over the drapes and wall hangings that were emblazoned with the Guilds crest and dyed in their colours. She was only so very much fascinated in her surroundings because it took her mind off the fact that no matter how large the room was she was still fairly deep below surface level. But she had a handle on it; she was utterly determined to remain calm, immersing herself in her Goddess stoicism, especially since there were several sets of what could only be described as hostile eyes focused directly on her and Remy. The gulf of the yellow-stoned room lay between them and those eyes but that made their impact no less searing; though Storm hadn't failed to heed that Remy was returning it in kind. To one man in particular, it seemed...  
  
As all ten occupants stood in almost impenetrable silence, Ororo tried to pull on her memory to see if she recognised any of the Thieves; all dressed out in full guild uniform, befitting their obviously high ranking positions within their clan. She failed to place a single one; Jean-Luc LeBeau only being conspicuous by his absence thus far. Somebody coughed and the rough sound only compounded the hush that had settled. But there was no echo; the walls absorbed it like a sponge.  
  
Her eyes eventually fell upon Remy once more, standing rigidly at her side; all of his easy manner that he'd displayed to calm her on they way down here having disappeared as soon as they'd crossed the threshold into the room. He was almost like a different person, hard as stone in the face of the men that had rejected him but now called upon his help for whatever reason; a reason that they had failed to divulge as of yet. It didn't strike Ororo as the type of behaviour of persons who direly needed the help of a supposed enemy. She thought they might have been a little more...becoming. But given the way they'd approached him, maybe that was just wishful thinking.  
  
Remy continued, what seemed to Storm, his battle of wills with the sandy haired man, whom was stood roughly central in the group of men. He was stocky, broad shouldered and his chest was buffeted even beneath the magenta coloured body plate that lay over it. That light hair was drawn into a plaited 'rat's tail' at the back, as was the hair of most of the men present, and still quite thick despite its receding line at either temple. Slowly the man moved; folding his arms with their steel plate elbow length gloves, over his chest as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. The expression of his face changed; from being as subtle a glower as Remy's, to one of...conceit? He opened his mouth to speak, being quite deliberate in the action, as if to get absolute attention from everybody present before actually uttering any words.  
  
"What yo' been doin' wit' yo'self garçon?" The question might have been totally innocuous in itself, like an estranged friend inquiring after his old buddy, but it was nothing more than a taunt...and Remy rose to the bait.  
  
At first Gambit laughed as he turned his head to the side, wanting suddenly to look anywhere but at that man. He recognised the intention but couldn't stop himself as his face suddenly dropped into a mask of seriousness again, the laugh stopped abruptly on his lips and he faced him again, "Fuck you, Thierry."  
  
The man named Thierry shook his head slowly from side to side and issued a series of patronising *tuts*. "Now Remy, yo' forget yaw manners?" He drawled lazily, still shaking his head at the perceived impertinence. "'As all dat time in New York City turned yo' into a foul-mouthed li'll punk wit' no respect fo' 'is 'bedduhs'?"  
  
Remy continued to give him the same black look, but said nothing more, determined not to give him the satisfaction a second time around.  
  
"I t'ink dis boy fo'got 'ow to address de Guild Higher Council. What yo' t'ink hommes?" He tilted his head briefly towards the other men who were slightly behind him; the gesture enough to indicate their silent backing. "Den what yo' say we teach de traitresse cochon, befo'e 'is Poppa get back?"  
  
"You teach him a lesson and you will swiftly find yourselves at the wrong end of another one." All eyes fell onto Ororo and all half laughs and cock- sure mutterings ceased. She may not have recognised any of them but they certainly hadn't mistaken a six foot tall African woman with white hair and blue eyes as anyone other than the X-Men's legendary Weather Mistress, Storm. A tussle with her was certainly not what they were looking for.  
  
"I don' need yo' t' fight mah battles fo' me chére." Remy suddenly warned her darkly and then turned to face the Guild Council. "Dese jokers wan' a piece o' me, den dere welcome to it---dey jus' shouldn' expect an easy ride." As he said this Remy reached into his coat, unhooking his Bo staff from his belt; it was the ordinary one though, not Hank's lethal contraption. Flicking it forwards it extended with a sharp snap and scrape of metal sliding at speed against metal. Instantly, the eight men stood to attention, their easy stances disappearing and quickly replaced with ones that were ready for action.  
  
Thierry Mauvais was the only one to venture forwards, similarly reaching for his own weapon of choice; a long rapier sharp blade. It was apart of his full uniform, held in a beautiful gold encrusted scabbard at his left hip and primarily for show, but when the occasion fit he could handle it and had not hesitated to use it to lethal affect before today. "I don' care 'bout why Jean-Luc wants yo' 'ere Remy," He ground out as he approached Gambit, sword firmly in hand. "'Coz no one else sure as hell does."  
  
"Yo' tell me why he does." Remy held his staff out threateningly to the man that had once been as close to him as an uncle. A man who'd bathed him as a child, played ball with him and comforted him when the other clan children shunned the Diablo Enfant as a freak and a monster, amongst other things over the years. But he somehow managed to block all this from his mind as he held the sleek pole steady; ready to strike him down if needs be, as he repeated in almost a slow, deliberate growl, "Yo' tell me why...he...does. Or I swear t' God Thierry, I'll be de las' t'ing yo' see."  
  
Ororo swallowed hard; she knew the threat was empty, but a part of her...somewhere deep inside a part of her flinched at those words. This whole torrid little scene left a distinctly nasty taste in her mouth.  
  
"Back off Remy---dis ain't what yaw here fo'." Everybody in the room turned to the voice at the door; Jean-Luc's rumbling timbre. Everyone accept the two men stood with weapons that was. After holding Thierry's gaze for an age, reluctantly Gambit tore his eyes away, inclining his head slowly over to the doorway at his right hand side. "Back off garçon ...now." Jean-Luc warned.  
  
Remy's arm fell down to his side, the end of his staff clattering against the stone floor but he still maintained a firm grip on it closer at his end. Three years....it had been close to three years since he'd last seen his father. All the old, familiar thoughts and feelings came back. Ones he'd been convinced had been buried long ago, the most prominent being that anger of a young man cast out on his own, with only his youthful fury to bury the deeper feelings of loss and hurt. That was the same young man who had led the Marauders into those tunnels on that fateful night long ago, only to realise too late that he'd been betrayed, yet again...In a flash of complete clarity, Remy felt the overwhelming urge to just get himself and his Stormy the hell out of there---resentful at the thought that he was probably about to be used once more. But in the end he couldn't and what irked him the most is that he knew that...had known that from the very first moment that this had all started. He could never, never walk away...  
  
"Make dis quick," He took a couple of steps in the opposite direction from the door before turning to his father, "...Jean."  
  
"Don' worry, I will." He replied equally as cold as he came into the room, his ever watchful goons Pierre and Jean-Jacque still with him. In fact they'd only just arrived back from Natchez, tearing along as fast as they could all the way. LeBeau had only managed to quickly tell Thierry to assemble the other members of the High Council, but hadn't had chance to tell them why. Other than to expect an unwelcome visitor.  
  
"Dey attacked mah friends." Remy suddenly blurted out as Jean-Luc came to stand more-or-less between his son and his Chief Advisor.  
  
"Quoi?"  
  
"Dere good people homme an' dem New York dicks yo' sent t' get me---dey attacked dem." Remy ground out angrily, his Cajun lilt so thick the words would have been indecipherable to an outsider. "Why couldn' yo' o' jus' asked me?!"  
  
"I didn' send dem." He intoned calmly.  
  
"What if I'd still been in de school, hien?" He shot out, not hearing him, or not choosing to at any rate. "What would o' happened den, wit all dose enfants aroun'? Yo' not give a fuck 'bout dat?"  
  
"I didn' send dem." Jean-Luc repeated with the same consideration.  
  
Remy regarded him sceptically for a moment, giving him chance to regain his composure, tame this see-saw mood of his that had been up and down at least a dozen times within the last eight hours alone. "Den Remy's sure dere mus' 'ave been easier ways to get 'is attention, yo' know what I'm sayin'?"  
  
"It wasn' mah fault, dere was nothin' I could 'ave done t' stop dem Remy." He said earnestly, looking his boy right in the eyes as he spoke. "Believe me, if I'd 'ave known, I'd o' done somet'in'."  
  
Remy tilted his face down shook his head dismissively and then reached up and rubbed his fingers a couple of times along the fore part; pushing them down on the skin with some pressure. Then he snapped his Bo staff back into its neat containment and clipped it back onto his belt. "Look...it don' madduh---what's done is done." He mumbled quietly, never once looking back up at Jean-Luc as he turned away, fishing around in his pocket and quickly finding his cigarettes and striking one up. He glanced over at Ororo; a silent look passing effortlessly between them, a communication so attuned as to be almost subliminal. Turning back around, he tipped his head up and let out a long and cloudy exhale up into the air like a smoking chimney. "Den spit it out---why you wan' me?"  
  
"It ain't us, several o' de uddah Guilds got together---Velasquez Lopez seemed t' be at de 'ead of it all." Jean-Luc explained sketchily as he turned, just the top half of his body towards little Jean-Jacque and held his hand out. The wooden tube was produced seemingly from nowhere and passed to his waiting leader swiftly. And then it passed through his hands, being given to Remy just as quickly.  
  
"What's dis?" Remy asked around his cigarette, turning the heavy wooden object over in his hands once or twice.  
  
"Open it."  
  
Remy cocked an eyebrow and then shrugged, pulling off the cap at the top and taking out the parchment. A musty whiff came out with it as bits of its dry and brittle edges scraped on the side of the tube, letting out a cloud of pig skin dust. Tucking the tube in the pit of his arm he used both hands to unfurl it; dark eyes roaming over it swiftly before rolling it back again and dropping it back into the tube.  
  
"Why me?" He asked quickly as he plucked out his cigarette and tucked it down between two fingers.  
  
Jean-Luc was surprised that Remy didn't even bother to question the matter like he had when Lopez had revealed to him the nature of the quest. But then he supposed the boy had seen so much strangeness in his fairly short life that the idea of anything did little to perturb his jaded mind. And now there was only one answer he could give to the question he had asked. One that, in a way, was the absolute truth. "I don' know Remy."  
  
"Dey mus' 'ave given yo' some indication?" He shook his head, briefly pursing his lips, "I mean, it's not every day de Guild wan' an excommunicated t'ief to go out lookin' fo' a mythical object, hien?"  
  
Jean-Luc regarded his son for a moment before turning to Thierry who was still near by, less pleased by the second at what was transpiring here. They'd had to rely on Gambit once before and although it saved their hide, he, and most other members of the clan were still bruised by that...disgusted that the fate of their Guild had been entirely in this traitors hands. They'd be damned if that had to happen again... "Thierry, yo' take de others into de nex' room." He requested, leaning in and speaking in an extremely low whisper.  
  
"What's dis abou' Jean?" Thierry responded, equally quietly. Throwing a vicious glance over at the cause of his consternation, he added, a little more severely, "Yo' tell us first."  
  
Jean-Luc shifted so that he was face-on to the tall, sandy haired man. "What did I jus' say t' yo' Thierry?"  
  
"Damn it Jean-Luc, I'm yaw Chief Advisor," he seethed, "I won' be treated like dis---."  
  
"An' I'm yaw leader." He spat back, everyone taken aback by the sudden raise in his dusky tone, "When I ask fo' somethin' t' be done, I expect it t' happen." Shifting back down an octave or two he stepped up closer to his loyal and trusted advisor, extending his finger out and pushing it to the centre of his chest, "I wan' a word wit' mah boy---in private. So yo' jus' do as I tol' yo', an' I'll explain everythin' later...okay?"  
  
There was no response, simply an icy stare boring down on him.  
  
"O...kay?" The finger pressed to the smooth magenta metal more insistently. The whole place seemed quiet as a grave, waiting tensely with baited breath.  
  
"C'mon," He growled eventually, aiming the order at the other men convened although he was still glaring at LeBeau Snr. Then with a sweeping gesture of his cupped hand he ushered them all out of the room. But before he followed them as they trouped out, showing their distain for the situation even in that simple action, he remained close to his leader, almost whispering, "Dis bedduh be good Jean-Luc...mon Dieu, dis bedduh be damn good." He sucked in a harsh breath as if he were going to add something to the 'threat', cocking his head and bringing his hand up in gesticulation, but instead he pinched his mouth shut beneath his sandy coloured moustache, simply turned on his heal and went after the others.  
  
As the clustered sound of their footfall echoed off down the tunnel Jean- Luc turned to the only other occupant that had ignored his request, and had remained in the room with Remy and him. "Yo' too chére."  
  
Ororo looked not at the father but at the son, waiting the request from him for her to leave. If he wished it so then she would, if not she would stay, regardless of what Jean-Luc did or did not want. It made no difference to her. Remy gave her a tight smile, his eyes blinking slowly as he nodded to her, "It okay Stormy---do as 'e says." He turned back to Jean-Luc, "I t'ink dere are one o' two t'ings me an...Poppa 'ere, need t' talk 'bout."  
  
"If you are sure?"  
  
"Oui---don' worry, dis shit won' take long." Remy assured her.  
  
With one last stern look at both men Ororo made her way out with the others, instinctively releasing that Remy needed this. Perhaps it was about time that he cleared to air, said some things to Jean-Luc that needed saying...had needed saying for too long now. Going out into the gloom of the corridor the reality of where she was suddenly flooded back. She pulled in a sharp breath of stale, tepid air as she came to a rest a hundred yards or so from the room and leant against the wall to her left. Trying to regulate her breathing, she pursed her eyes tight as her head bowed forwards from the wall; her hands laid flat against it behind her as if to steady herself and letting go would only cause her to crash to the ground. But through the crushingly oppressive feel of the underground space and the constant fevered mutterings of the others who had left the room somewhere off to her right, she fought to hold on. Focusing and concentrating her mind to a point of absolute clarity, just like the Professor had taught her over the years, she was confident she could get through this. Besides, they wouldn't be down here for much longer, she could only hope...  
  
*  
  
Taking a long, full drag, Remy paced back and forth a couple of times, creating a bit more distance between Jean-Luc and him in the process. He was desperately trying to cool his agitation because he wasn't all that sure where it was coming from or who it was really directed towards. Was it the Guild, his 'father'...or himself? So many conflicting emotions in so short a space of time---he was sure it wasn't good for him. Then the sound of Jean-Luc's voice made him stop dead again.  
  
"It been a long time, non?"  
  
Remy shrugged off-handily, "We've 'ad longer, mon pére." He tried not to sound spiteful but found it quite beyond him at this point.  
  
"Look, I don' like dis---." He paused, as if thinking of a suitable way to describe what was happening appropriately, "---dis situation," he finally said, "any mo' dan yo' do but dese t'ings 'appen an' we 'ave to deal wit' it."  
  
"Yo' mean like we dealt wit' dem in de past?" Jean-Luc fixed him with a questioning look, prompting Remy to repeat, unhurriedly, "...de past."  
  
"What yo' tryin' t' get at Remy?" He asked quietly as he shifted, scuffing the heel of his boot on the floor. He began to walk to the side like he was slowly but surely starting the circle the other man.  
  
In accordance Remy shifted also, but remained where he stood, turning just his head to track Jean-Luc's lazy pace, drifting leftwards. "Yo' know, I've 'ad years t' ponder dis question homme an' I been wonderin'---." He took another covetous inhale, "if I'd evah arrive at an answer. But den...den I finally realised---I been askin' de wrong person."  
  
Jean-Luc came to a stop. "What de hell are yo' goin' on 'bout garçon? Askin' de wrong person what?" He asked, quite irritated by now; he'd had enough riddles for one night. It was almost four in the morning and he hadn't slept for over twenty-four hours, adding to that not one but two trans-state car rides, he felt about ready to drop.  
  
Now, after all this time had passed, that he'd brought it up, Remy simply launched into it, but with no hostility, moreover a measured iciness, one that went right to the bone. "De question dat's been...eatin'...gnawin' away at me fo' years." he hesitated, dragging on his cigarette again perhaps out of nervous gesture but he did it with such a languid ease that it appeared not. "Did yo' take me into de Guild an' yaw home 'coz yo' wan'ed t' save me---or jus' 'coz o' dat damn photograph?" The cigarette dropped to the ground and he ground it under foot slowly; the thing could have been made of crushed glass for all the noise it made in the suddenly thick silence. "Which is it?"  
  
"Dat's not fair Remy," Jean-Luc began staunchly, "Yo' know yo' couldn't 'ave been closer t' me if yo' were mah flesh an' blood."  
  
Remy stared at him with that same ice fuelling the ruby glint in eyes that usually burned so hot...but not today. Today they were the coldest Jean-Luc had ever seen them. "I mean, could yo' 'onestly say dat yo' would o' cared less 'bout me if yo'd nevah seen it... 'onestly?"  
  
Jean-Luc's jaw tightened inadvertently and his back teeth clicked as they clenched together with the action. It hurt him to hear this from Remy but maybe it hurt so much because deep down he knew that there was an element of truth in those words. The question was one he'd not cared to delve into too deeply ever since he'd been shown the picture of 'Le Blanco Diablo', a picture that hailed from three quarters of a century before Remy had even been born. Perhaps now really was the time for the truth..."When de Guild firs' got wind dat dere had been an enfant born wit' eyes dat were lit wit' de fires o' hell...de devils v'ry eyes, we knew....we knew..." He trailed off slowly.  
  
"Yo' knew wha'?"  
  
Jean-Luc shook his head, a look of utter sincerity in his mocha eyes, etched into every time line that marched its track down his well worn face, "I still loved yo' like yo' were mah own Remy...regardless." His heavy brow creased slightly, again a questioning look overcoming him, "Yo' do know dat, don' yo'?" And there, in those simple but loaded words Remy LeBeau felt he had his answer...  
  
He had his eyes on the smooth wooden tube now, slowly twisting it over in his hands. Taking hold of one end firmly in his right one, he started to tap it absently in the palm of his left as he peered up at Jean-Luc from beneath his fringe, "Well, I wuz a means t' an end, non?" He held the tube up and briefly studied it with a wry smile, before taking his gaze back to the man he called 'Poppa', "I guess some t'ings...dey nevah change."  
  
"Remy, don' leave it like dis." He called but didn't plead as Gambit started towards the door.  
  
Without turning around, striding determinedly toward the gaping black hole, he said, "Remy'll get what yo' wan' homme."  
  
"But?" The tone implied the word was coming.  
  
He stopped and after a moment looked over his shoulder in Jean-Luc's general direction but never directly at him, "But...once dis is over, dat's it." He shook his head, almost dejected but not quite, "Remy's done...it over, yo' hear me...no more."  
  
"I hear yo' son." Jean-Luc fairly whispered to himself as he stared at the void that Remy had disappeared through.  
  
* * *  
  
Remy walked quickly towards Ororo, slotting the light, old tube into an inside top pocket of his duster as he went. His concern piqued slightly as he approached the weather witch; still with her head bowed, 'propping' up against the wall but now she had one hand by her face; her thumb and index finger pinched at the bridge of her nose. "C'mon Stormy, let's get outta 'ere."  
  
"For Goddess sake Remy," She chided, the words muffled by being spoken down into her chest. For a second she really did sound angry and as Remy approached her he gently placed his hand on her back, just below her neck. But at the moment he was about to try and say something comforting, believing that the confined space had finally gotten to her, Ororo pulled her head up and his fears were laid to rest. In fact, there was even a hint of an amused smile there, as she continued, softer this time, "How many times? Do not call me that!"  
  
Remy uttered a relieved laugh, "Mon Dieu petit, yo' 'ad Remy worried there fo' a minu'e." He shook his head at her, "I t'ought yo' were gonna wig out on me dere."  
  
"Not on your life." She replied confidently, though inwardly she was thanking the Professor teaching her those exercises. This was the first time she'd tried them in a real situation and although not a miracle cure, they had certainly helped. Anything was better than the way she used to react to being enclosed. "So, what is happening now?"  
  
Remy let the hand that rested on her back trail around so that his arm enveloped her as he began to walk, taking her with him. He let out a rather over-dramatic, slightly flamboyant sigh and then grinned down at her, the gesture only just visible as they moved away from the light of the room and back into the darkness. "We gotta go see someone firs'---but 'ow yo' fancy a trip fo' two t' Brazil chére?"  
  
"Brazil?" She exclaimed. "All that sun, sea and...Sangria---why ever not?"  
  
Remy squeezed her to him and laughed, "Ah, dat's mah Stormy!" This time words would not suffice so instead, she hit him lightly in the chest for using that appalling nick-name, much to his further merriment. But as they walked off into the pitch black again there was no way Ororo could see the look that consumed his face, betraying the outward bravado completely.  
  
-TBC-  
  
As always, I love to hear your feed back, good or bad, it gets me writing! 


	7. Chapter7

Thanks go out to Sophia, Tania, LeochickX, Tedabug, Yellowdragon Fly, Gethmane8 and Ddrinki4. Cheers! xx  
  
Warning: there will be a piece of extreme violence in this chapter.  
  
S'endormir= go to sleep.  
  
Chapter.7.  
  
The long weighty strings of colourful ceramic beads rattled and clattered as Remy pushed them aside, holding them back for Ororo to take up as they went through the doorway. It was almost as deathly silent inside as it was out, only outside, there had at least been a subtle chorus of bats squeaking their high pitched calls and the incessant croaking of frogs. But their symphony was almost melodious...soothing. Now they were inside the small house, that some would have classed a glorified shack, the noises of the swamps seemed to fall away as did the humidity that was even more compressed out here than it had been on the city streets of the Big Easy. The air was so thick that it became an effort simply to breath and contrary to the norm; as the early morning hours rolled on, the heat worsened.  
  
Remy took the lead down the short but narrow, lamp-lit hallway; its raw wooden walls littered with faded pictures of the New Orleans of yesteryear, with its elegant street trams, men in tailored suits and top hats and women in finely cut white lace dresses holding dainty parasols to block out the searing sun. Most had turned sepia with age as had the various newspaper clippings of long forgotten events that constituted the hotchpotch 'wall paper' on the slightly heat-warped pine slats. Their was an open doorway on the left hand side, near to the end of the hall wherein Remy stopped close to its exhale of pale orange light, simply looking, almost apprehensively, through the opening at whoever it was that occupied the room. Ororo stopped too, but couldn't see who or what he was looking at; being stood just behind his slightly taller frame. She waited patiently, letting her eyes roam over the few cuttings and photographs that were tacked onto the wall closest to her. Suddenly she stopped her random wandering when her eyes fell on someone who looked distinctly familiar. A boy, no older than seven, perhaps eight, caught in mid action of swinging on a length of thick rope attached to a tree on the banks of, she assumed, the Mississippi. The picture had been snapped at the precise moment that the child was about to let go; his face beaming with that curious mixture of playful terror and exquisite joy, mouth open wide in a screaming smile, eyes shut tight in anticipation of impact with the chocolate coloured muddy waters below, floppy, longish auburn hair flying upwards with his immanently downwards momentum...  
  
"'Tantie?" Ororo's attention was drawn from the photograph back to Remy as he hesitantly spoke the name then quickly ran his finger over his top lip to wipe away the beads of sweat caught in his stubble.  
  
"I' been expectin' yo' Remy." A burly yet somehow fragile female voice answered him; cracked at its edges.  
  
"I know." He replied simply and then went through the doorway into the soft light that bathed him. Ororo noticed a strong spicy scent as she went through right behind Remy; spice and the dense, smoky scent of musk-type incense. Delicate swirls of wispy, white smoke danced slowly about the small room that appeared to have another one on the far wall where the pair had entered. But the room they were in now was very much like the hallway with photos, maps of the city and swamps and nineteenth century advertisements set in frames as keep-sakes. There was also a lot of cloth; cloth of cerulean blue, violet, vivid orange and lemon yellow, all draped from the ceiling like billowing parachutes and then over the two windows that were on the left-hand wall, becoming makeshift curtains.  
  
There was a figure sat or rather hunched on a large silk pillow on the floor; the great curve of her cardigan and shawl covered back practically all that could been seen of her from where Ororo and Remy stood silently waiting; the top of a mound of jet black dread-locked hair being the only other discernable feature. In front of her was a low down, fairly long table loaded with thick white church candles all of odd sizes through frequent use and in the middle of this creamy white congregation stood several figures, catholic icons; several miscellaneous praying angles with flaxen hair and bowed heads, then a much taller statuette of a blue clad Virgin and a crucifixion of roughly the same height was carefully positioned next to her. The woman's body was still rocking slightly as if in silent prayer at her personal alter even though she'd had company for several minutes now. But Remy knew to be patient; 'Tantie Mattie had ways and means of doing things. She would start when she was ready...  
  
Suddenly she stopped her gentle sway and began to shift. There was a soft clattering sound; the white beads that ran around the edges of her dreads' falling against each other as she moved forwards onto her knees, coming close to the shrine-like table she'd set up. She muttered a hastily spoken but whispered 'Hail Mary' as she kissed the statue of the 'blessed virgin' and then blew out the candle that stood directly in front of it, repeating the ritual with the crucifixion. Eventually she made to get up; pulling her shawl, clasping it tight at her breast as she leant against the table to help her stiff body from the ground with some measure of difficulty. It was a mixture of age and having sat in that saint-like devotion for nearly four hours now, never once waning. 'Tantie turned to face the pair, fixing Remy with her large dark eyes, the same tone as her ebony skin. After a moment of silent exchange, the robust woman smiled and opened her arm out wide, the other still clinging to her saffron coloured shawl.  
  
"C'mere boy," she chimed; a look of sadness in her eyes despite the smile. Remy moved obediently over to her, embracing her as she did him, patting her hand comfortingly on his back, like old mothers or aunts do, "I swear yo' grow a li'le bit mor' ev'ry time yo' go away!" She said as she pulled away to look up at his towering form, again her voice cracking slightly but this time it seemed to be more heavy with tears than the sound of age.  
  
"Mebbe." He mumbled as he let his hands drop from her, feeling her sadness keenly.  
  
She reached up and cupped his cheek fondly. "Yo' shouldn' leave it so long t' come an' see ol' 'Tantie, Remy." She admonished regretfully, sad in the knowledge that they could only snatch the odd reunion because it was still so dangerous for him to be here. After gazing up at him a little longer she finally turned her attention to Ororo; her countenance instantly lightening. She moved off from Gambit, brushing his arm affectionately as she passed, fixing Storm with a genuinely kind smile, "'Ain't yo' gonna introduce us?" She directed the question at Remy but still had her eyes on Ororo.  
  
"Oui, pardon," he apologised absently for his lack of manners, "Dis is Ororo, Ororo Munroe."  
  
"I' heard so much about yo' girl," The older woman beamed as she let go of the shawl and took one of Ororo's hands into both of hers, holding it in a warm and instantly familiar clasp that actually made Storm feel a little uncomfortable. She wasn't used to strangers being so immediately forthcoming in their affections. They usually reacted to her with obvious distain or a cautious awe---either way they tended to keep their distance. "I feel like I know you already."  
  
"Really?" Ororo said rather nervously, more at the intensity of the woman than anything else. She glanced over and Gambit, then asked, "What has Remy been saying about me? All good I hope?" 'Tantie said nothing, simply continuing to smile up at Ororo, glued to her by some unknown fascination. It was almost as if she considered her some precious idol like the ones she'd been fawning over when they'd first arrived. "Remy has told me much about you also." she then said slightly hesitantly, trying to break the peculiar silence as she noticed quickly Remy's smirk from the corner of her eye. There was nothing quite like 'meeting the mother'.  
  
Suddenly, the old woman let go of Storm's hand and the spell seemed broken as she shuffled her way back over to the blue silk cushion, with its beautifully embroidered pattern depicting a flock of angles, and sat back down on it, but facing outwards and not at the table. "Sit."  
  
Remy and Ororo did as they were told, both taking up a position on the floor in front of Mattie, settling down on the intricately patterned rug below, into lotus positions. "Now...now..." She murmured distractedly to herself, pulling at her shawl, heaving it up about her large, rounded shoulders so that it wrapped her like a caterpillar's cocoon. Remy watched her carefully, feeling strangely comforted by her almost scattered behaviour. She'd always been a character, a wonderful eccentric. Though he didn't fail to notice that as her years advanced, the changes became more pronounced in between each snatched, infrequent visit. Looking down at the ground, 'Tantie was still mumbling, when suddenly, "Yo' want mah help." She blurted out the statement quite solidly, shocking them in her abrupt change of demeanour.  
  
"Yah." Remy reached out and took her hand into his, "T'ings nevah change, hien?" He said with an easy fondness in his voice, the type of which Ororo truly believed she'd only heard from him one or two times before. Sure, he could turn on the sass and charm like it was a light switch, but it was only on rare occasions that his manner was true to how he felt inside...like now, with his mother.  
  
As 'Tantie stared down at the floor again, her hand that was clasped in his trembled a little. He tried to steady it by tightening his grip, but no to much, as he continued, "I need to know ev'ryt'in' yo' know 'bout de Carcoccia."  
  
At that 'Tantie's head snapped up to hold Remy with a wide eyed look. She shook her head, the beads at the tips of her hair smashing into each other with vigour. "Why?" She implored.  
  
Remy didn't answer; instead he reached into the left inside pocket of his coat and took out the wooden tube. It's once drab dark appearance became glossy in the candlelight, like silk. Reluctantly letting go of her still quivering hand he pulled of the lid with a dull *pop*; the same musty smell and vague cloud emerging from it as before. He removed the map and then set the lid and tube carefully on the ground. Rather deliberately, he unravelled it, casting a look over it once more and then handed it over to 'Tantie. But she didn't take it immediately, gazing at it as if he were trying to hand a rattlesnake over to her---then, unexpectedly she practically tore it from his grasp, lifting it close to her face as her eyes roamed over it urgently. Remy could feel that Ororo was giving him a look but he refused to acknowledge it, concentrating on the woman sat before him. He cleared his throat, making a swift, gravelly sound before asking, "Does dis look 'kosher' t' yo'?"  
  
For a moment, she seemed lost in what was before her; her dry lips moving with silent utterances as her finger ran along the map, tracing the lines with fervent movements. She began shaking her head, rattling the beads again as the movement of her lips sped up and air hissed out to from harshly whispered words; words that neither of them could understand. Remy could feel that look of Ororo again and this time he did turn to face her, but all he saw there was the same disquiet as he was feeling on the inside, currently doing so well to hide. "Well?" He prompted, attempting to break this strange condition she'd lapsed into. He knew she was extremely weary of things such as this nowadays, even voodoo was off-limits for her now. She only ever practiced it when the Guild asked her to, out of a sense of loyalty to them. "What yo' t'ink chére?" He asked softly, trying to encourage her.  
  
Her mouth stopped moving then; lips held open somewhat pensively as she shook her head again, looking up a Remy with suddenly pleading eyes. "Yo' don' do dis." She told him, her hands starting to shake fully this time, not just a minor tremor. The parchment of the map began to make a sound like a fan being wafted as it was jerked up and down with the rapid movement. "Yo' promise Mattie, yo' promise now---yo' hear?" She was near frantic by this time, her grip threatening to ruin the fragile map.  
  
"Why 'Tantie?" Remy reached for her hands again, laying his over hers to stop them from moving so. "Why?" He repeated quietly, the look of fear that was now replacing the pleading driving a hot, sharp knife into his gut. He couldn't stand seeing her like this. It just wasn't right.  
  
"De Carcoccia---it---it's bad Remy, oh Lord it's bad." Quickly she dropped the parchment from her hands and gripping Remy's as tight as she could she lurched forwards so that she was practically on her knees in front of him, "Yo' promise me boy...yo' promise 'Tantie now..." Her timbre falling to nothing more than a pleading lull.  
  
"It' okay 'Tantie," He assured her out of reflex and then, with some difficulty, extricated his hands from hers, wrapping his arms about her in a comforting hug as she had done for him on many occasions in the distant past. "Hush now...it' okay...it' okay."  
  
"Oh Remy no...no it' not! It's evil!" She suddenly cried out, now wrapping her arms around Remy's torso as she pressed her face to his shoulder. He continued to try and hush her but her cries remained although they slowly became less virulent. "No...no-one mus' evah have it---no-one...it's evil Remy, it's evil...." She kept on repeating that truncated phrase, until eventually the muffled words against his trench-coat faded into nothing. Nobody moved for a while and everything became silent save for the croaking from the swamps rising into sudden prominence from outside, though the squeal of the bats had ceased with the gradual coming of the dawn; the sky already becoming a dark amethyst with dark blue swirls running through it like loosely mixed paint. There was a noise like a tap dripping---plip-plop- --it was the sound of two tears starting from the face leaning into Remy's left shoulder, dropping onto the leather of his duster that rested over his thigh.  
  
"Will she be okay?" Ororo eventually asked in a careful voice, not wanting to say anything until the scene had played itself out.  
  
Remy nodded as his hand shifted where it had settled at the back of her head, holding to the thick black and greying dreadlocks. "Oui." He stated, but once he'd decided it sounded like he was more trying to convince himself, he confessed, "I don' know chére...she 'as dese turn's ev'ry now an' den."  
  
Ororo pushed herself up onto her knees and moved closer to them with a sympathetic look. Placing her hand on his arm, she tried to offer some comfort to him, "Maybe she is just exhausted Remy," She cast a look at the table-made-shrine, noting that some of the candles had near burnt out; their spent wax in globed and misshapen ivory puddles on the floor; their waterfalls of wax frozen it mid-action in places, hanging over the sides in stasis. "It does look like she has been here doing this for a long time." She reasoned, hoping to convince him that he needn't think the worst.  
  
"Mebbe." He muttered, not entirely convinced. Something about the Carcoccia had spooked her and spooked her good. Most worrying to Remy right now was the fact that predictions and intuitive knowledge almost always turned out to be spot on.  
  
Ororo stood up then and went to the sofa that sat against the wall at their backs, just inside the doorway with no door. Hastily, she rearranged the heavy cotton throws that draped it, spreading them out like sheets. "Bring her over here." She called over her shoulder as she pulled the last navy throw down from the back of the settee.  
  
Remy looked back at her and nodded before turning back down to the woman in his arms. "C'mon 'Tantie." He said to the sprawling crown of her head; her face was still pressed to the leather at his shoulder. "Yo' get some sleep now, hien?" Carefully he began to move her, the fact that she'd already fallen into a semi-stupor making it that much more difficult. But he did eventually managed to manoeuvre her the couple of yards between them and the couch; laying her down as Ororo pulled the make-shift sheets over her. She moved back to stand just behind him, as Remy kneeled down at the side of the sofa, pulling the last bit of the navy throw so that it stopped just beneath her chin. Mattie was still murmuring and her eyes occasionally flickered open again. "S'endormir chére." He whispered close to her forehead as he stroked his hand over her coarse hair, "S'endormir..."  
  
*  
  
Ororo stood out on the veranda just off the living room, in her black combats and vest top, looking out over the swamp in the reddish orange morning light; the sun having rose to just half its height, nestling between thin reams of pink, blue and purple clouds. The heat pressed down blisteringly already, but with a small gesture of her hand, a soft breeze ascended from the mist-caressed surface of the swamp to encircle her in its placid blanket. She took a sip from the tall tumbler of water she'd brought out to quench the dryness she felt setting in her throat as she listened to the swamp coming to life in the early splendour. The water had warmed somewhat in the half an hour the weather witch had been outside, but it did the job. This moment of calm finally gave her time to process everything that had gone on over the last few hours. They may have been few but they were certainly hectic. Issuing a light sigh, she tried to get her head around what she and Remy were about to do. A definite sense of apprehension had been quite prominent in her mind even before coming out here to see 'Tantie Mattie, but after that little display earlier it was now set in stone. The old woman's reaction to the mere idea of this thing getting into any ones hands had worried Storm greatly. Over the years she and her team mates had had to contend with many things similar to this and the outcome had never been particularly good. The very thought of an organisation such as the Guild, either of them, having access to something with such great power as she supposed this thing had almost caused her to shiver--- especially if she was to bare it on her conscience that she had helped deliver it into their hands. But, at the end of the day, a promise was a promise...  
  
"Penny fo' 'em."  
  
Ororo looked round on hearing the dusky voice cut a swathe through the ambient noise to see Remy leaning against the doorway that led out onto the veranda; his leather duster hanging from the tips of two fingers and swung casually over his right shoulder, his other hand in his pocket.  
  
"I was just thinking," She began as she turned back towards the vast stretch of swamp that spread out all the way to the horizon, "that it is really quite beautiful in a way." She paused as his footsteps started towards her, sounding hollow on the wooden boarding underfoot and in the quiet of the morning. "You would not expect it, would you?"  
  
"Expect what?"  
  
"For a swamp to be so pleasing to the eye."  
  
"Yah well," He slung his jacket over the balustrade and then leant on it's fairly wide, flat top with both hands as he looked out to the ever changing sky, "Dis place is full o' surprises petit."  
  
Ororo nodded absently in agreement, letting her eyes drift closed for a moment. It was only when she did that that she realised just how heavy her lids were; taking all of her effort in her tired body to will them open again.  
  
"Yo' should get some sleep too 'Roro," he suggested as he watched his best friend rub the back of her neck tiredly, twisting it slowly one way and then the other.  
  
With her hand still cupped at the back of her neck she gave a small shake of her head, "I will be fine Remy, honestly." She took another sip of the tepid water, hoping that would refresh her a little. "How is she?"  
  
Remy took a meaningful breath and then shrugged as he let it out it loud sigh. "She be sleepin' now---I t'ink." He shook his head ruefully, "I seen her freak befo'e but man--- I ain't nevah seen her get like dat. I mean, I know she not into dat shit no mo'e; powers an' spells an' dat, but..." He shook his head again, bereft, "I got a bad feelin' 'bout dis."  
  
Ororo set her glass down no the flat of the wooden rail and stepped closer to him. Placing her hand on his back in comforting gesture, she said, "It is okay to worry about her," she told him as she rubbed her hand back and forth up his back briefly, sensing that he was trying to keep a check on just how concerned he really was, attempting to hold up that stolid persona he so often hid behind, "You care for her." She stated simply.  
  
"Yah, I know mon chére." He turned to look Ororo in the eye, "But I know she'll be alrigh'---dat woman's a tough cookie an' no mistake." He looked back into the room where he could just about see the edge of the sofa that she lay on. His forehead was creased as he turned back to the swamp that glowed like orangeade on fire beneath a white blanket, "I jus' hate de fact dat I'm gonna 'ave to do dis in spite o' wha' she say." He finished regretfully.  
  
"There is no chance then that you might heed her words?" She asked him as she slipped her arms around his midriff and he lifted one arm up to let her in; settling it down around her. When she received no answer she tried to stifle a small yawn, and then said, resignedly "I thought not." Resting her head against him, Ororo felt her eyes shutting against her will once more and just being near to him like this tempted her to do so. Remy'd rocked her to sleep often in the past, as she laid her cheek close to his heart beat, his arms wrapped around her, tight...  
  
"Yo' dozin' girl?"  
  
Ororo snapped her eyes opened, uttering a noise of mild surprise as she realised she had been perilously close to drifting off there. "Oh, sorry." She offered as she pulled her head back and looked up at him; the blacks of his eyes reflected the colours of the ever brightening sunrise from their marble surface. A thought that had often come to her in the past ran through her head; how oddly beautiful they still appeared, for all their peculiarity. Still beautiful...  
  
For a while a kind of contented silence settled over them, only the reverie around them connecting them to any semblance of the real world. It was like they'd transgressed several hours and were back on the roof of the mansion-- -everything in between Jean coming up to see them and being here now, standing on a veranda in Louisiana may as well have not happened for all their sudden peace. When alone in each others company they both had the uncanny knack of creating the illusion that nothing else mattered and the rest of reality simply...faded away. Ororo kept herself alert by concentrating on the breeze that was currently keeping them in a pocket of coolness whilst Remy absently tracked a flock of cranes crossing through the burning sky; their long graceful forms in black silhouette, making them seem cut out figures in a Japanese silk work.  
  
Resting his cheek atop of her head his mind was dragged, involuntarily, back to what 'Tantie had said to him. *No-on mus' evah have it---no-one--- it' evil Remy...it's evil...* It had certainly rattled the hell out of her that was for sure, but what could he do? He had absolutely no illusions, he knew these people, what they craved, what they desired, what they would spill blood for. Opportunities such as this come up but once in a lifetime and there was nothing those Guilds wouldn't do to get there hands on a prize so precious, so coveted. He was reluctant to admit to himself that even now a part of him, some dark corner was excited by the idea of getting his hands on something this big. If he'd still been a Guild member he'd have clamoured over all and sundry to be the one who would risk his neck, receiving the undoubted prestige of being the one to claim the legendary Carcoccia. But the truth of the situation was that, what he was looking at now was being destined to cement his place in infamy instead. That's if he already hadn't---though he was pretty damn sure he had. Did he really want to go down in history as the one who gave the Thieves Guild unimaginable and unlimited power? From his perspective it didn't look like he really had all that much choice in the matter. What's another black letter against the name Remy LeBeau anyhow? He would have smiled wryly at that if he had the heart for it.  
  
Taking in a slow and audible breath Remy held the woman he had in his arms that little bit tighter, relishing the simplicity of body to body contact. He'd be the first to admit that he'd always been a very...tactile man. Though nobody---but nobody, could make him feel so at ease as when he held his padnant, his Stormy in his arms. When he did so he it was as if he could finally rest; no pretence necessary and all cares were temporarily arrested. She healed his hurts, soothed his heart---he'd never known anyone like her, so giving without restraint; a love unconditional. The woman would probably walk over hot coals for him and had, in fact, done much more, much worse on the strength of their bond, their friendship. And that's exactly why he couldn't let her do this with him; it was a step too far. This was his cross to bear, why should he foist that upon her too?  
  
"Yo' don' 'ave t' do dis 'Ro...I don' wan' yo' t'." He said suddenly, then grinned, albeit sardonically, "Fuck, I don' even wanna do it---but dere's no need fo' yo' t' dirty yaw hands wit dis. Yo' can still leave 'ere now." With a pause (that seemed to Ororo to be hesitant, rather than encouragement for her to bail, perhaps because she wanted to read it that way), he then added, "If yo' wan'?"  
  
Smiling, the Windrider shook her head, "I have never backed down from a challenge in my life," she replied with all the dignity he had come to expect from the former goddess as with a graceful sweep of her hand she brushed aside a lock of auburn that hung over his right eye, the soft tips of her fingers ghosting down over his cheek, " and I do not intend to now." Giving him a well-meant reproving look, softness telling in her eyes, she continued, "If I can take on fights to the death in the sewers of Manhattan, what makes you think I will back away from this?"  
  
Remy chuckled slightly as he took his other hand from the waist-height rail and let it join the other one around Ororo, repositioning them so that they enfolded her trim waist; interlocking his long fingers close to the grove at the small of her back, "Non," He said with a kind of bemused resignation, "I know mah Stormy's way too headstrong fo' dat," He moved his head down closer to her, holding his lips close to hers, "even if it is de bes' t'ing fo' her. Sometime', she jus' don' know when t' let uddah people look out fo' her stubborn hind." He cocked an eyebrow at her during his knowing statement, that heart melting smile on his mouth as he laid a soft kiss on her lips like he was used to doing. It was only brief, nothing more than a good friends fleeting peck ought to be, but then he didn't move to pull away, leaving their lips close but not touching; a hairs breadth. For some reason Remy felt that he couldn't move, or simply didn't want to, he couldn't tell which. All at once he became painfully aware of the pulse beating its muffled rhythm in his jugular and the heat of the reborn sun bearing down on the right side of his body, fierce like he was standing too close to a raging fire as one...two...three...four...five seconds ticked by. His eyes were still very much open, but his face was too close to her to focus on anything but a smooth ocean of delicately shaded chocolate skin that had turned the warm amber of whiskey in the radiant light, the gentle, sandy mounds of the Nairobi Desert. Too much time had passed now, although in truth it was only seconds, in these circumstances even that was far too long for him to brush it off and hope she wouldn't regard that something odd had just passed. But then, with a rush of familiar adrenaline, the type that so often coursed through him when the sweet touch of female lips was immanent, he realised that he didn't wish to, he didn't care...  
  
Letting his eyes drift shut, Remy moved onto her lips again, slowly, barely touching them at first, just gently brushing them, making it clear that they were in fact desperate to taste, but by some miracle of reserve or strength, they held back the seemingly inevitable. He found it impossible engage his mind in order to think at this moment; his head becoming a light and vacuous space, filled with the vivid orange of the illuminated swamp that floated behind his closed eyelids. A certain kind of fear that he'd never experienced before wouldn't allow him to. The warm, sweet feel of her breath just barely escaping her lips to caress his, so close...so close...  
  
Ororo felt a shiver run down her, to the very tips of her toes as she felt Remy's large hands tighten at her back and the touch of his lips began to press against hers, sensing that at any moment they would move, pulling her into something that was unknown. The stubble above his upper lip pressed to her skin, prickling it like tiny barbs, taking her attention away from the fact that she was allowing him to gradually pry apart her mouth with his own. That dry, scratching sensation like the mild prick of a thousand tiny needles was all she could concentrate on in this surreally alien moment she'd found herself propelled into without warning. But with all her well focused constraint she soon forced herself back to reality and the reality was that she was standing here with her best friend, none of this was real...  
  
"Um...maybe we should go and get some sleep." Storm's richly toned voice sounded strangely delicate as she pulled back from the Cajun, looking down at the floor and then over to the doorway that lead back into the house, back to sanctuary. She took her arms from around his torso as without protest, he dropped his from her body too. Running her hand down the back of her short, silky crop, she finally looked up at him. "Are you coming inside?" She asked, some of her assuredness coming back.  
  
Remy shook his head, that lock she'd pushed back earlier falling back down heavily again as he broke from her gaze and he rubbed his hand several times across his dark, rough chin, "I be in in a minu'e," He reached into the pocket of his duster that hung limply next to him, pulling out his smokes, "I finish one o' dese firs'."  
  
Ororo cleared her throat, having to remind herself to swallow, "Well do not be too long---you need rest before we leave."  
  
"Oui." He answered shortly, looking out over the swamp as her footsteps disappeared behind him, receding off into the house. He waited for a moment, staring out as the mist rose, evaporating in the heat; desperately trying to hold onto the blank feeling that still clung to his mind---a blissful state of numbness. But he knew it wouldn't last much longer. "Fuck." He growled to himself, irritated, as he yanked out the last cigarette in his packet and struck it up quickly, releasing a noisy exhale of smoke to join the retreating mist as he leant forwards on the flat length of warm, smooth wood before him, slamming his hands down on it with a keen *smack* as he did so.  
  
* * *  
  
Jackson, Mississippi...  
  
The dark featured girl idly fanned herself with the laminated room-service menu that she'd grabbed from the bedside table, but it wasn't helping to push back the stale air much, so she threw it back onto the table. It caught on the edge of the small cabinet and slowly slipped off, hitting the ground silently. The stiff and uncomfortable polyester sheets of the hotel bed scratched against her bare skin, all save her arms, chest and the one leg that she had hung over the side to try and cool it. Idly she swung it back and forth in order to create a breeze, but even that was hot. Looking over to the side a scowl beset her strong featured face as she laid eyes on her bedfellow; his pock marked olive skinned face crinkled up against the cheep pillow cover, his bad eye hidden in its creased folds. Every now and then he let out a rasping snore that sounded as if he were choking to death. As she watched him it was all she could do not to attempt it for real. She sighed heavily as she turned her head back up to the white ceiling; the grey/blue light from the window mixed with a streak of orange from the street light that had yet to be switched off from last night. Her dark eyes fell down to the clock just above the dresser that was directly opposite the bed. Six o'clock.  
  
It had been four hours then since she and Senor Velasquez Lopez had returned from Natchez and he'd decided they should stay here until morning and then return to San Diego first thing in the morning. But she didn't mind really---apart from this particular 'obligation', it also gave her chance to finish off some business of her own. Looking over at the sleeping man again, she slipped carefully out of the bed, trying not to shift the hard sheets. Once out, she grabbed her plastic, tortoise-shell grip from the bedside table and pulled back her dry, thick, dark hair, struggling slightly to pull the unruly mass all into one manageable pony tail at the nape of her neck. Finally securing it, forcing the clasp shut until it caught with a neat clack, she picked up the heaped pile of her clothing from the ground and reluctantly put it back on. She hated wearing this garbage, just for appearances sake, especially this Guild attire. With all its metal plating it would make a racket when she put it back on, so she gathered it all up into her arms and crept over to the bathroom to change into the offending items, closing the door slowly behind her.  
  
When she emerged from the tiny, white tiled, fluorescent lit room, she was all set and ready to go. But as she got to the door she looked back at the bed where-on Lopez was now spread-eagled across it, his mouth agape, that bad eye that never quite closed revealing some of its hidden pearl. A parting gesture might be in order she thought to herself slyly but then ruled it out. This wasn't a time for her usual tricks; there was a job to do and she prided herself on being a professional. She could save her amusements for afterwards if needs be. A wicked smile tugged at her lips as she watched him lying there and then without further ado, opened the main door of the room to let herself out as quietly as she could; shutting the cheap hunk of hardboard with a mute click.  
  
*  
  
Her stride was swift, assured and with definite purpose as she walked down the mostly quiet streets of Jackson. There were still a few late-night-come- early-morning revellers stumbling about in loud, yet weary groups, trouping their way home with the nasty taste of stale beer and cigarettes in their mouths. But mostly there was no-one at this end of town; no-one but the Latino girl in the stiff, strange get up. It was enough to make sure nobody bothered her with leering looks or half sober shouts. Soon she was off the main road and striding purposely down a less public path and then down another one; lined on both sides by tall, red-bricked buildings with black metal fire-escapes criss-crossing down their flanks like a large game of snakes and ladders---sans the snakes. She took no note of her surroundings as she left the scattered sounds of the street behind her; the occasional car or early morning delivery lorry rumbling along to its destination. Her focus was one-hundred percent on what was at the end of this side street that stopped with a dead end; a brick wall at least ten foot high, topped with razor wire. Their was a large green dumpster against the wall with it's the lid not shut properly, all the rubbish on top threatening to spill forth, but her dark, emotionless eyes were on what was next to it; an old white Chevet, parked right next to the wall in front and to its right so that it was boxed in.  
  
As the girl approached the car, she took a single key from a small pocket at her breast and slotted it with out fuss into the round protruding lock on the edge of the boot door. The trunk popped open immediately but then pitched back down again with its own momentum. Above the springing squeak of it opening there was a muffled cry from within. Placing one hand on the open lid so that it didn't fall back down again she gazed down into the back of the car with those blank, emotionless eyes. Her lips were the only things that moved, holding a mark of cruelty as she took in the sight of the bound and gagged figure dressed in nothing but a thin plain T-shirt and a pair of knickers; arms tied behind her back and in turn tied to her feet that were bent upwards, close to her back so that she was bound like a turkey waiting for the oven.  
  
The captive squinted in the face of the sudden flood of natural light at the same time as heaving in through her nose all the fresh air she could muster after being enclosed in the retched heat for so long. The white rag that constituted a gag pulled viciously one the sides of her mouth, biting in at the very corners. There was even a spot or two of blood were it had worn down her skin as she'd tried to scream for help, hoping that somebody, anybody might hear her desperate, though muffled, pleas. But they hadn't come and now after who knows how long locked in such a small, stifling dark space her unknown tormentor had come back for her. After several stuttered attempts to open her eyes fully, they flickered for the last time and as they did so there almost black orbs widened to an unimaginable degree. What they took in sent her into a shocked paralysis and suddenly her binds ceased to hurt and she near forgot to breath, for what she saw looking back at her with a mask of cruelty was---herself.  
  
"What you say me and you go for a short walk little girl?" Her doppelganger taunted in a voice that even matched hers.  
  
At last she regained her wits and began to scream as best she could, once again making vain attempts to free her black gaffer-tape bindings. The car shook as she thrashed, bouncing noisily on its ample suspensions but it only earned her a contemptuous laugh and that was the only difference in this likeness of herself. That laugh was twisted and it seemed to echo on itself. But the eerie noise stopped abruptly as her captor reached into the trunk, taking her by an arm and a leg and dragged her out onto the ground; dropping her on the concrete and grit like she were nothing more than a heavy suitcase, her chin hitting the ground painfully, scrapping off some skin as it did on her bear knees. She heard the boot slam shut again above her and tried to turn her head to look up at whoever it was that had done this to her. Immediately she wished she hadn't as her eyes widened once more at the sight of her impostor reaching into an inner pocket and drawing out a sleek, ridged edged Bow knife. She closed her eyes tight and against her dirty, blood stained gag muttered a Latin prayer or two with fevered, fearful words. With her eyes squeezed shut she waited for what she was sure was coming but relief filled her very being when she felt the binds that tied her feet to her hands being cut with a sharp tearing sound like someone ripping off a piece of sticking tape with their teeth. She was harshly rolled over then, as her feet binds were cut away completely and then submitted freely to being yanked up from the ground. The true San Diego thief only had a few short seconds to ascertain whereabouts she was, quickly taking in a confusing array of brick, metal, and a thin sliver of early morning sky or was that late evening? Unable to get her bearings, she was roughly dragged through a door on the left hand side of the street that she didn't notice until she was shoved, nearly thrown through it.  
  
It was dark at first, although the young thief wasn't sure whether it was her fear that was blinding her or the surroundings. She found herself being tossed through another door close to initial one that had banged shut behind them on entry; the iron grip that had been around the top of her right arm releasing her fleetingly, only to take it up again seconds later. The girl tried desperately to get a foothold on the bare concrete floor in this new unfamiliar space but she was being pulled along far too quickly so that her foot simply slipped from beneath her every time she tried to gain purchase, scratching clumsily and painfully at the ground. The room she found herself in now was much lighter than when they'd originally entered the building. It was full of boxes and large wooden haulage crates with large black words stamped on their sides reading; This Way Up, and above that a pointing, thick arrow in the direction indicated. She took all this in within seconds, her profession demanding that variety of attention to detail whether it was useful or not. Unfortunately the one useful detail about the room that she did notice was that there was no other way in or out save for the door that was by now far at the other side of the long room.  
  
By the time her captor had thrown her down onto a solitary chair amongst the various sized boxes, she had fought back some of her composure and cunning. She was, after all, a member of the Thieves Guild she reminded herself coolly, she should be prepared for situations like this as they were quiet common; the feud between the San Diego clan and the nearby Chula Vista Assassins had been going on for quite some time. It was one of the most vicious and one of the most bloody wars ever fought between the two rival groups. #That's it#, she thought to herself rationally, this was just another Assassin's trick, nothing more. Perhaps they'd heard about the map Senor Lopez had discovered. But that thought only filled her with another kind of dread; the Chula Vistas were renowned for their skills as tortures as well as implementers of swift clean deaths. It depended which one served their current purpose. She had once been told, or 'advised' as the clan elder had tactfully put it to her, that should she ever have the misfortune to fall into their hands it would be best, if the opportunity arose, to kill herself. It was a much more appealing fate than the alternative, or so she'd been led to believe. But if she did truly believe in their warnings, or simply regarded them as scaremongering dished out to the younger members of the clan, at this moment in time that distinction became quite pointedly irrelevant.  
  
The mirror image of her stood motionless for a moment, gazing down at her as she mustered enough steel to return the look with contempt and bile. She tried to move her mouth again but the taut cloth opened up the red abrasions at each corner, and she could feel the warm seep of blood from the wounds soaking into the gag.  
  
The ruse had gone on long enough, the girl that was standing thought to herself; to wear these clothes was bad enough, to wear a semblance of human skin was much, much more offensive to her sensibilities. And so it was that with sheer force of will, a flicker in the mind that was instinctive, Raven Darkholme shed the dusky coloured shell she'd been hiding behind for close to twenty four hours now. With a noise that mimicked a suction cup being slowly pulled from a hard surface, the smooth sun-browned skin beneath the uniform was consumed by a coarser blue. At first it sprang up like several small blemishes, marking the face until it rapidly raced over the entire surface, which in itself altered its physiognomy. Even her height altered to some degree, making the clothes she wore just a little too small in the arms and legs. The dark locks that had been dragged back at the neck shrunk, creeping slowly upwards, converting to a fiery 'Irish' red as the plastic clip that had held the mock hair in place fell to the ground with a clatter that echoed in the hush.  
  
"Well, I have to say, Senorita Jacqueline," Her crystalline, naturally sallow eyes taunted mercilessly, "Pedro certainly learnt a few things about you last night that he hadn't seen before." The words reverberated on themselves strangely, as that cruel laugh had moments ago.  
  
Several small tears sprung up in the large black plates of the girl Jacqueline's eyes as her teeth tried to clench but were unable to. The panic in her was rife by now; the control gleaned, now lost once more. Up until the moment the woman had changed into...this, she had begun to use all her mastery and learnt skill to ease her hands from the tightly wound gaffer-tape but her clandestine work had ceased hastily on the sight that was now before her. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, an innate fear of mutants working away at her mind once she'd realised the truth of who, or what had been the one to knock her unconscious last night and stash her in the back of a car in deathly temperatures. But she soon forgot about half baked notions of mutant terror when an unwelcome object reappeared into her view.  
  
Mystique reached into the jacket she was wearing and pulled the large, serrated Bow out of her pocket. Taking a firm grip of the glazed tiger-bone handle, she held it up before her, examining the blade as if it's sharp, shinning length absolutely fascinated her. A mumbling noise from below caught her attention back to the matter at hand; it seemed as if the girl were trying to say something from behind the bloody rag. Never one to be a bad sport she decided the last words should at least be heard, even if they weren't heeded. Reaching down she roughly yanked the rag from around the girl's mouth; ripping it right off and tossing it to the side. "What was that?" She asked like she pretended to care; full of a blatant insincerity, "I didn't quiet catch it."  
  
Jacqueline gasped for a moment, even the warm air refreshing to her although after having the gag in her mouth for so long its impression was still indented hard on her skin, making it feel as if it were still physically present. For a moment she struggled to find her voice, until she forced out a speedily spoken plea, "You can not kill me Senorita," She stopped for a greedy breath, before launching back in, "If you cause me harm you will make mortal enemies of one of the fiercest clan's in the entire Thieves Guild. It is a matter of honour that they avenge their dead, at any cost."  
  
Darkholme gave a sly chuckle as she watched the blade, twisting its deadly point against the tip of her extended index finger, ever-so-lightly. "I am shaking little girl," She sneered mockingly, "No really, I am." At that she couldn't stop herself from guffawing out loud, even going so far as to throw her head back as the cruel noise bounced around the large room, off the walls and stacked boxes.  
  
"Assassin bitch!" The girl screamed in one last surge of courage, she drew in another breath which would have continued her diatribe had she not felt a knocking blow to her throat and then a white hot, searing pain. Her lips remained parted as she felt the warm flood of tears running down her cheeks, mercifully aware of little else for a suspended moment in time; her eyes open wide. Mystique pushed the knife that bit deeper, to which a death rattle-esque noise shuddered from the girls lips, clawing its way out. Satisfied that the single blow was enough, the red-headed mutant tired to withdraw the blade but she'd rammed it in with such force and power that it caused her trouble to move. She had to physically put her hand to the girls shoulder and hoist her leg up so that the sole of her boot rested at the edge of the wooden chair before pulling with all her strength. She let out an indulgent, gratified sigh as finally the knife gave, almost stumbling as she propelled backwards with the tiger-bone handle clenched firmly in hand. A note of surprise flittered across her face as looked back down at her victim for she wasn't quite dead yet and there was nowhere near as much blood as she'd expected.  
  
Raven watched intently whilst the girl tried again and again to gulp in air; her face a horrifying mask of shock as with each movement of her throat the three inch horizontal slit gaped open then flapped closed like a caught fish's gills as it fights for life by breathing in the oxygen that will ultimately kill it. The noises she made every time she made the action became louder and louder and more frantic as with one last great gasp, there was only a long low gurgle to follow. As the girls head finally slumped down like a lead weight against her chest, Mystique's briefly piqued interest was satisfied as to why there was little to no blood from the wound; it must have run down her throat and wind-pipe and filled up her lungs. She had literally drowned in her own blood. But the killer didn't muse over it for long, she had to get back before her absence was noticed. Going back into one of the other inside pockets and replacing her knife, she retrieved two items; a small yellow can and a cheap box of matches. Breaking the seal on the palm-sized metal tin by placing it between her teeth and twisting it several times until it gave, she bit off the top and spat it without thought to one side. She began to spray the water-like liquid from the can all around and onto the presently cooling corpse. Once the tin was empty she threw it to the ground; it landed at the dead girl's bare feet. There was absolutely no emotion on her face as she went about her macabre task. Her movements and actions were nothing short of considered---proficient---professional.  
  
Without further ado, she turned and walked more-or-less ten meters away from where the body sat awkwardly in the chair, the hands having fallen down limply at the sides, fingers half curled in on themselves as the head kept on inching down extremely slowly at an ever more unnatural angle. Facing the body again, a match was produced and struck; sailing through the air with all the grace of a shooting star it exploded into a glorious supernova as it hit the puddle on the ground in front of the young thief. Her body was consumed in a frightening instant but Mystique didn't see it. She was already out of the door, heading out of the building, with someone else's face, someone else's voice, someone else's life to play with while the need suited her.  
  
-TBC-  
  
A/N; I don't know if Storm has ever met 'Tantie Mattie before. I had a flick through my back issues and couldn't find any where she had. So if she has, according to my AU comicverse, she hasn't. 


	8. Chapter8

A/N.2; Something I think I should have explained for anyone who didn't follow the 'Gambit; Vol.2' comic when it was out a few years ago. I only realised when I received the review from Tedabug, so cheers for pointing it out. The photograph Remy mentioned in chapter six was one of him in the 19th C. that had to do with him travelling back in time at Jean-Luc's behest to save the New Orleans Guild at its conception. The other photograph I mentioned Ororo seeing at 'Tantie Mattie's house was completely innocuous and totally of my invention, and has nothing to do with the other one which is from the Marvel canon. Sorry if I caused any confusion, I should have made my self clear!  
  
Very grateful again to everyone who reviewed, it is always great to here from you and inspired me to get this chapter done. And an extra special thanks to Aimee Belle.  
  
Chapter.8.  
  
After half an hour or perhaps longer outside on the veranda, Remy finally came back in doors. He presumed that more than enough time had passed and that Ororo would be fast asleep by now. As he entered the living room the smell of spent candles and incense hit him despite the fact that the door that led outside had been left open; some elements of its thick perfume still clung to the atmosphere in great, almost visible swathes. From outside, a fresher shade of citrus sky lit the small room up, giving it the same gentle tone as the candles had. He glanced down at 'Tantie, surmising quickly that she was still in slumber too. Moving his tall, sleek frame with swift ease across the longue, he was only stopped abruptly when a scratchy voice called out to him from the sofa.  
  
"Yo' two." The words were uttered with slight bemusement from the old woman still laid beneath the thick throws-come-blankets, like they were some kind of private joke. She shook her head, her creased eyelids still firmly shut as she repeated, almost to herself, "Yo' two."  
  
"What's dat 'Tantie?" Remy did an about turn, moving over to the sofa and bending down onto his haunches at her side.  
  
"Yo' two," She repeated for the third time as if he should be perfectly aware of what she was talking about, opening her eyes finally she continued, intoning quietly. "yo' too blind t' see it."  
  
"See wha'?" He said with a vaguely nervous laugh, wearing a look of confusion on his handsome angular features.  
  
'Tantie tried to sit up; leaning her weight on her thick forearms and pushing backwards. She managed to get her back leaning half-way against the cushy arm of the settee behind her, but then gave up, deciding that she was comfortably enough where she was. Once she'd ceased her fidgeting she fixed Remy with a look that was at first inquisitive, her brow furrowing as she studied him, but quickly turned 'school-ma'amish' as she asked, seemingly out of nowhere, "Has evr'yt'in' yo' been t'rough taught yo' nuhddin?"  
  
Remy stared at her, truly perplexed by now. He pushed himself forwards, going from balancing his body weight on the balls of his feet to kneeling down at the edge of the rug. "Remy ain't got de slightest clue wha' yaw talkin' 'bout." He gave that laugh again; short and unsure, accompanied with a quick jerk of his shoulders.  
  
"Exactly!" She exclaimed, her voice becoming inadvertently shrill, cutting through the gentle silence. Clenching her hand into a ball so that just one stern, 'accusing' finger pointed out, she lightly jabbed it to Remy's toned right shoulder, punctuating each word with the gesture as she reiterated, "Yaw---too---blind." Leaning back then, she tilted her head to the side and regarded him with a sympathetic yet somehow chastising smile, the sort that mothers are prone to.  
  
"Yah, I'm blind." Remy simply agreed, a little caustically, "Remy don' understan' yo' but I agree, chère." He was too tired and too distracted to find out what the hell this latest 'Tantie Riddle' was all about as she tapped his arm playfully for his sarcasm. She had rather an annoying habit of lapsing into speaking at crossed purposes at times. Sometimes it was best to just concede that whatever she was saying was right even if you didn't understand it. It saved a lot of hassle in the long run.  
  
After regarding him wordlessly for a while longer, Mattie slowly moved her podgy, aged fingers up to cup Remy's face, absently brushing her thumb through his dark, dense stubble. "Why didn' yo' come an' tell 'Tantie?" She asked, her voice sounding oddly meek.  
  
Once again the goal posts had moved and she was off on another tangent but this time Remy caught her meaning instantly. She was intuitive about such matters and it didn't surprise him for one moment that she had recognised that his bio-kinetic powers were missing. He fought off a frown, glancing quickly downwards before meeting Mattie's concerned eyes once more. "Wha' de point chére?" He said flatly, "Mah powers---dey gone. Dere ain't no point mopin' ov'r somet'in' I can do jack-shit 'bout." He shrugged, feeling oddly philosophical about the whole subject.  
  
"Watch yaw mouth boy!" She chided for his expletive, never-the-less with a smile on her lips. Remy simply cocked an eyebrow at her and gave her his boyish grin, the kind he used to give her whenever she'd caught him up to no good, like raiding her drinks cabinet with Etienne at thirteen, or getting discovered smoking in the cellar with Bella when they were fourteen. She patted his cheeks affectionately before taking her hands away and pulling at her make-shift blanket, hitching it that little bit higher about her chest. "I know yo' okay---yaw a survivor, 'ave been since yo' were dis big." She made a gesture of size with her hands, indicating the small form of a baby. "But dat don' mean I can' worry 'bout yo'." Reaching out, she quickly stroked a hand over his hair that had gone flat with the balmy air; the sunlight picking out the keenness of the reddish colour from the darker elements.  
  
"Dere's no need 'Tantie." He smiled reassuringly as he could, which for him was an action that could be effected with consummate ease. "Remy's fine--- yo' don' need t' concern yaw self ov'r 'im. What yo' do need t' be doin' is lookin' aft'r yo'self." He glanced over his shoulder at the table. "Stayin' up all nigh' in dis heat, fawnin' ov'r yaw bits o' clay ain' gonna do yo' no good girl." She gave him a sly look for his cheek over her devotion but said nothing. "I mean it," he said, becoming serious this time, "De las' t'ing I wan' is fo' yo' t' get ill---stuck out 'ere, all on yaw own."  
  
"But dat's de point Remy," She practically whispered, her eyes going over his shoulder to gaze upon the serene face of the Virgin, set in her pale blue hood. "I ain' nevah alone."  
  
Remy held a vaguely sceptical look but didn't let it pass on to Mattie, for he knew how much her faith meant to her. He'd never belittle her for it, whatever his personal, more sober views on the matter were. "Whatevah---yo' jus' take care, hien?"  
  
"I will." She promised, heartened by him, "I will." Remy made to get up from the ground, but 'Tantie then asked, "As long as yo' promise me somet'in'?"  
  
He winced a little on the inside, thinking he knew what she was going to ask of him. But he had to go; he couldn't back out of this now. "Wha'?"  
  
"When yaw chance fo' happiness comes along yo' grab it, yo' grab it wit' both hands boy," So, it wasn't what he had expected and they had once more slipped back into the realms of the cryptic conversation. But he still listened intently. "Don' waste yaw chance...yo' deserve it mah li'le angéllique garçon." Remy huffed at that, not accustomed to being compared to heavenly bodies instead of those that dwelled below, but then smiled at her good-naturedly. "An' I know yaw gonna go to de Amazon and get dat t'ing, no matter wha' I say." She continued, suddenly a little reproachful, but only through love. "But jus' be careful---heck, wha' am I sayin', 'course yo' gonna be fine! Yo' got dat beautiful femme wit' yo'."  
  
"Oui." He said softly, prompted by the mention of her into a quiet whisper.  
  
"She a good one Remy," She nodded her head vigorously as her eyes fluttered closed again, "Mattie saw dat right away. She noble...an' true."  
  
"She was a Goddess ya know," Remy replied somewhat sardonically, "---well, kinda."  
  
"I can tell." She said meekly but happily and then just like that she seemed to slip off into sleep once more, her worn but proud face holding a kind of relaxed contentment.  
  
Remy sat by her side for a little bit longer before getting up again, slowly, as not to disturb her. He manoeuvred across the room then with a deft lightness befitting of a skilful thief, avoiding all objects in his path. In no time he found himself standing at the arched entrance to the room that was at the back of the one he was in now. Leaning on the frame, crossing his long legs over at the ankles he gazed upon the slim sleeping form that lay gracefully on the bed.  
  
Mon Dieu...the woman could even manage to sleep elegantly. He began to appreciate for the first time the easy pleasure of observing her from this vantage point. He'd more often than not be curled up next to her whilst she slept, only ever giving him chance to take her in in that intimacy, not really getting the chance to appreciate her fully, as now. He had to admit, he was perhaps a little in awe of her. A sliver of the bright morning beamed down in a thin shaft through the thick velveteen curtains, highlighting tiny white particles of dust that danced about the room like miniature fairies. The pale light fell upon her body that rested above the sheets of the bed instead of beneath them. She was bent slightly at the stomach, her long thighs going down diagonally and then her strong calves going diagonally in the other direction; her knees together, like an arrow pointing. His eyes slowly travelled up the landscape that was her, stopping briefly at the slight exposure of her flat stomach before continuing up her bare arm, making him think of the silk feel of that warm chocolate skin beneath his fingers. He followed its length all the way up to the curve of her shoulder, the line of her collar bone clearly visible, taking in all the detail, delaying the moment that his gaze would settle on her face.  
  
With time his dark eyes lifted that extra distance, falling with a painful twinge onto her beautifully smooth features; her eyelashes so long that they brushed her cheek as she slept. Her nose, he'd always found one of her most delectable physical traits, perking upwards, just slightly, at its softly rounded tip. Then there was her mouth...her mouth. He couldn't avoid it any longer. Remy swallowed down hard as he looked at it finally; its pout at the corners and its warm, soft feel...its touch he'd felt a thousand times, but he had to ask himself now; had he really ever touched it? His casual kisses were ten-a-penny, but what he'd almost let happen earlier...he could kick himself as he thought about it now. What the fuck had he been thinking? Well, that was the problem right there; he hadn't been. Drawing his long fingers over his eyes, he pinched them together at the bridge of his hard, straight nose. He held them there for a moment he yawned; small and stifled with a short gasping sound. Tiredness, he reasoned with himself, that's what it was. It had been a hectic night after all, really quite emotional too if he thought about it. Exhaustion and the need to be close to someone he could depend on had caused him to do what he did. In fact, it could almost be consider a reflex action, he jested with himself, trying to keep things light. Running the hand that had been at the bridge of his nose over the bottom half of his face, he settled upon that as the explanation, being content to be easily convinced by it.  
  
Feeling a little better for that, Remy looked upon Storm with fresh eyes. The shaft of light was gradually growing greater, fatter and longer, throwing more emphasis on the 'dance of the fairies' and the tall sleeping beauty that they frolicked around. A Vermeer painting he'd once seen in Delft came to his mind as the sharp sunbeam played on her curves, throwing every supple limb and expanse of skin that wasn't covered with black cloth into a stunning relief of light and dark. Noble... 'Tantie had called her, noble...and true. Remy couldn't think of two other words that would describe the woman that lay before him better. But he could think of one more, another perfect adjective to fit her like a glove...breathtaking. Simply breathtaking...  
  
For a moment his reasons to convince waned, his resolve began to creek beneath his veneer of reason. She stirred, and her lips parted a little, letting out a soft moan as she shifted her head on the hand that it lay on and he felt his chest tighten and his stomach do likewise. No, this was tiredness, he told himself again---it was time to get some discipline back. The best way to start that would for her not to be in his view, and so he pushed off the doorframe without so much as another stolen glance at her and went back into the room where Mattie lay in sleeping peacefully. Standing roughly central in the room for a moment, his hands in his pockets, he looked at a loss as to what he could be doing now. Sleep had suddenly and rather swiftly been expelled from the equation. Then he had a brainwave. Going back out onto the veranda swiftly, he came back in seconds, swinging his large dark mocha duster up and on. He then headed quickly but quietly out of the room and out the house.  
  
* * *  
  
The flat metal bottom of the gold plated wine goblet scrapped lazily at the rough wood of the table as Thierry Mauvais ran it round in the traces of circles. His eyes held a dark, far off look...brooding. He took hold of the stem with a firm grip and brought the wide rimmed top to his mouth, throwing back the last of the blood red wine that had nestled in its pit. He brought the goblet back down with a loud slam which briefly dissipated the discontented murmurs of the room, all eyes turning onto him as he sat alone at the far end of the table. But the low chatter started up once more as Thierry grabbed up the deep green wine bottle and refilled his glass and gold goblet, letting great waves of the red liquid slosh around, nearly spilling over the finely cut rim. But he paid it no mind, his eyes still fixed on that elusive point of nowhere.  
  
"Thierry?---A word mon ami." Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jean- Luc coming down from the other end of the table and taking up the vacant chair next to him. He didn't look up at him, delving instead into his wine, taking two or three great, greedy gulps.  
  
Jean-Luc gripped at the edge of the seat of his chair between his legs, squatting above it for a moment whilst he pulled it closer to the table. "So, what yo' t'ink o' all dis."  
  
He took another massive mouthful; his Adam's Apple moving up and down most prominently as the acid liquid went down the hatch. The bottom of the goblet banged loudly again as it connected with the table. "I don' like it." He turned and fixed Jean-Luc with a determined stare. "I don' like it one bit. Dat boy---."  
  
"I know wha' yo' t'ink o' Remy, an' I don' need t' here it again." Jean-Luc interjected sternly. "I was askin' yo'---as mah Chief Advisor---wha' yo' t'ink o' all dis."  
  
The sandy haired man nodded slowly as he looked absently at the half empty wine bottle in front of him, for a moment putting his hatred aside and trying to mull over things in his head. "It don' seem righ' Jean." He took his gaze back to his close friend and leader, "Since when do t'ose Guild's get in cahoots wit' each uddah." He shook his head then, his light eyebrows creasing downwards, "Dis feel like a set up---good an' proper."  
  
"But who?" Jean-Luc thought for a moment, "Lopez seemed t' be de ring leader but dat's too obvious---he wouldn't o' set up de meetin' if he was the one settin' us fo' a fall, y' know what ah'm sayin'?"  
  
"Yo' t'ink someone' pullin' de guy's string's?"  
  
"Mebbe." He replied darkly.  
  
"What 'bout de others homme?" Thierry pushed himself up in his chair and turned to face Jean-Luc fully; one arm resting on the table, the other elbow high and leaning on the tall back of the chair. "Dey can't all be havin' dheir chains yanked---dheir no' dat stupid."  
  
"Non." Jean-Luc conceded and then paused thoughtfully, "But dey got somet'in' up dheir sleeves mon ami---I can jus' feel it."  
  
Thierry absently began to drum his fingers on the table, the metal of his gloves making a tiny tapping sound instead of a low bass beat. "What happens when he bring' de Carcoccia to us? What den?"  
  
"Dey be waitin' fo' us, an' we take it to dem."  
  
"Where?" He asked shortly, "'Ere in Nawlin'?"  
  
"Oui." He shared his friends scepticism; a feeling that was apparent on his face and in the tone of his voice.  
  
"An' our share? What we get out of all dis?"  
  
Jean-Luc laughed sardonically, his head dipping to the side briefly, "I t'ink de deal is dey get de booty---we get t' keep our Guild...an' our lives."  
  
Thierry took his arms from the chair and the table, crossing them over his chest; his broad, strong body becoming visibly stiff with coiled anger and utter indignity. "Dey t'reaten us?"  
  
"No' in so many words but," Jean-Luc pursed his lips, his brows raising slightly, "let's jus' say dat de implication wuz dere," he nodded like he was confirming his own words, repeating, "it wuz definitely dere."  
  
The other man huffed with bitter laughter; sharp and cruel. "An' dey wan' us t' trust our fate t' de one man dat betrayed us worse dan anyone---nice touch." Jean-Luc didn't say anything to that one. Not wishing to be drawn into a debate on the matter, though thinking that one was probably unavoidable. "Mon Dieu," he exclaimed in breathless annoyance, "Dat Lopez bast'ard sure knows 'ow t' put a man over de barrel." His fists clenched against the magenta plate over his chest unbeknown to him.  
  
"Now Thierry," Jean-Luc said cautiously, "Don' yo' see? Dat's why he chose Remy. He be hopin' if he don' get t' destroy dis Guild, we'll do it from de inside out instead-tear ourselves apart." His face become hard and serious, "We can't let dat 'appen mon ami."  
  
"I know Jean," he leant forwards slightly, his arms still crossed though the tension had dropped a little from his posture, "I'll try an' put dat aside, fo' yaw sake if nuhddin' else but dese boys," He took a swift glance to the men sat at the other end of the table, "An' uddah members o' de clan- --dey won' be so easy t' convince. Dere are people in yaw own Guild dat still want yaw boy dead mon ami. 'Ow yo' gonna stop dem, hien?"  
  
"Ah'm not." Jean-Luc stated quietly, "Yo' are." Thierry regarded his leader for a moment, cocking his head to the side as his arms came down from his chest slowly, seemingly of their own volition. But before he could utter a word in protest, Jean-Luc said, "Tomorrow," then he remembered the time, "later today, I wan' yo' t' call a meetin' an---explain t'ing's to dem."  
  
"What t'ing's?" Thierry growled through his drawl.  
  
"One bruise...one scratch," He started slowly, "One hair on 'is head is touched durin' dis," His eyes became as black as night, their usual emotionless look forged with extra steel, "An' dat t'ief will answer t' me. Yo' understand dat?"  
  
"Oui."  
  
"Good." Jean-Luc nodded, his eyes returning to normal as he pulled back, unaware that he'd gradually started to lean forwards as he'd issued his warning. "Den yo' go tell dem now," he looked at the men down at the other side of the table, his cadre, as they pretended to be paying the no attention. Still with his eyes on them he said, " an' get dem t' spread de word-I wan' ev'ry thief in dis city t' know. Remy ain't t' be touched."  
  
"Oui." Thierry stated simply again, his strong jaw tight. Scrapping his chair back he daren't have looked at Jean-Luc for what he might have said to him. So before his restraint broke he went over to the others to inform them of this latest decree.  
  
* * *  
  
Ororo woke up feeling even more groggy than before she'd fallen asleep. She sat up on the bed, swinging her long legs over the edge, her bare feet hitting the hard floor. Running both her hands through her short hair, she let them go all the way down until they came together at the nape of her neck, threading the fingers of each hand through the other. It was very bright in the room by now, the dark velveteen curtain having fallen open a little, creating a now wide shard of sunlight to illuminate the room. Everything was quiet except for the fact that the dawn chorus had become a full on concert now that the day had begun in earnest. She stood up from the bed, rubbing absently at an itch in the near corner of her left eye, simultaneously taking away the thick blur that impaired her sight.  
  
Walking into the living room she scanned the area quickly. There was only 'Tantie Mattie asleep on the sofa and the same disarray of cushions and such as there was last night. She dipped into the kitchen, just ducking her head in but there was no-one in there and when she checked the veranda there was nobody out there either.  
  
"By the Goddess Remy LeBeau." She seethed to herself in a hissing whisper, "If you have left without me, I'll---." She scrunched her hands into small fists, unable to think of an adequate threat to cry out to the ether. Taking one or two paces back and forth she suddenly bolted for the door, and went right outside the house. Squinting her eyes against the sun at the same time as shielding them by putting her hand above them like a visor she looked out down the dirt path that led up to 'Tantie's house cutting a safe passage through the potentially dangerous swamps. The place was deserted; she couldn't see another soul in sight. So, the only course of action left to her was to go back into the house, grab her boots and leather jacket and then head to where they'd stashed the X-jet and hope that it was still there.  
  
But as she turned to go back into the house a familiar voice called out, "Stormy! What'cha doin'?"  
  
Ororo turned back around, but did so at a normal pace, not wanting to appear over anxious. "Where have you been?" Like she needed to ask; it was obvious from what he had in one hand and slung over his back, hanging from one shoulder.  
  
"We be needin' supplies fo' our jungle adventure mon chère," he quirked her a wicked grin as he finally came right before her, throwing down the backpack that he'd held in his hand down to the ground for a moment. "I jus' called in a few favours t' get dem, dat's all. Why?"  
  
Ororo remained quiet for a moment, her eyebrow raised in a defensively haughty way. She couldn't help herself though; she was feeling a little foolish for having to admit that she thought he'd bailed on her. Plus recollections of the veranda were hitting her keenly now that he was here in the flesh. "I thought you had gone Remy."  
  
"Wit'out yo'?" He pretended to look offended at the suggestion, "Nevah." He gave her that grin again and then picked up the rucksack he'd rested down on the dirt yard and made his way past her with a small wink.  
  
For some reason that annoyed the hell out of her more than the fact that she thought he'd left her behind. She felt her cheeks flush with a temporary heat because she knew why his casual manner was getting her pissed and was embarrassed to admit it t herself. He was acting like nothing had happened earlier that morning. Although she knew that she should be grateful for that, even she, the great, cool Goddess of the X-Men could succumb to being fickle at times. Guess she was only 'human' after all, she thought to herself dryly. After waiting for him to disappear back through the door she followed him in with a casual stride and her arms folded over her chest.  
  
* * *  
  
Hours later, Santa Maria das Barreiras on the Araguaia river, Central Brazil...  
  
Ororo waved her hand nonchalantly in front of her face to shoo away four particularly persistent flies as they buzzed about in her immediate vicinity. Giving up with all pretences at subtly, eventually she put a bit of force into her effort, carrying the unsuspecting flies away on a short but strong gust. A few gasp of surprise went up around the immediate area at the bus station (a dusty patch of ground on the outskirts of the city) as the crowd were taken by surprise by a sudden wind that came from nowhere and disappeared there too. Remy gave her a knowing smile and chastising look from behind his slim dark glasses; pointing out with that simple look, their need for discretion. She turned away from him as if something off to her left had suddenly caught her attention, not wanting to show him good- natured smirk that was fighting for control of her lips. And so they continued to stand in silence among the other people waiting for the twice daily bus that drove out to a small township forty miles outside San Maria das Barreiras, deep in the rainforest.  
  
They looked unassuming enough, like a pair of back-packers that visited such outposts all the time, still wearing the combats and black T-shirt get- up but sans their heavy jackets. The big bulky khaki rucksacks with all their supplies in were strapped safely to their backs and they were both sporting shades and sun hats. Nobody gave them a second glance. The X-jet had been stored safely and this time somewhat more legitimately at a small private airfield on the west side of the city. There was no way they could have flown it to roughly the destination they were looking to get to---the jungle was simply far too dense. So now they were waiting for a bus out to the township that nestled on the Xingu river; one of the many off-shoots of the mighty Amazon.  
  
There was a huge milieu of people waiting, some returning from trying to sell produce, still carrying fruit, vegetables of all varieties and some still with some live stock still in tow---chickens, lamb and in some cases small goats. There was even a man with a great hefty brown and pink pig that had just shown up, joining the back of the disjointed 'queue'. But mostly the people there were workers and families having spent the day in the city for whatever reason.  
  
A distant rumble started from down the hill, just out of sight which never- the-less caused the chattering mass to become more pronounced as they all started to move forwards.  
  
"Looks like dis is our ride 'Roro." Remy said quietly beside her as he peered over the dark haired heads easily, at the noise trundling up the hill towards them, as of yet still unseen. Then the front vender came over the top of the mud mound, roaring furiously and shooting out worrying jets of steam.  
  
As the ancient yellow bus sped the last stretch, halting to a gear-grinding stop Ororo eyed its rusted body work and hanging metal panels, noting the thick stench of burning rubber and petrol fumes. Leaning over as if to whisper, but over the din of the engine and the people clamouring to get aboard the untrustworthy mode of transport she found herself having to shout into Remy's ear, "Are you sure you do not wish me to fly us as far as Xingu? I am sure I could manage to get us that far at least."  
  
Remy chuckled and leant in to her in turn, and reminded her, "We meant t' be blendin' in chère. Flyin' women carryin' men ov'r forests ain't really gonna help, hien?" He cocked an eyebrow at her above his dark shades. She narrowed her eyes in return and then smiled as the bus doors clatter open and the entire crowd began to shuffle forwards and board the death-trap-on- wheels.  
  
Gambit stuffed his bag onto the rack above the seat where Ororo had sat, then reached down as she passed him hers and put it up there too. She scooted over on the chair, pulling herself across the smooth, worn lino seat covering via her grip on the iron handrail on the top of the seat in front. As soon as she'd set herself up next to the window, she half stood up again and yanked down the siding window pane. The bus was not yet full and already it was unbearably stuffy---the heat out here was twice as thick as it had been in New Orleans and they hadn't even entered the rainforest proper yet. Storm was doing all she could to regulate her temperature but the humidity was making it fairly hard to concentrate on anything never mind such a delicate manipulation as that. Overriding nature wasn't always as effortless and easy as she so often made it appear. Sure the odd quick, short gust of wind could be done with the minimum of effort, but good old Mother Nature had a marked tendency to fight back.  
  
"Yo' good?"  
  
Ororo turned from the window quickly, like he'd snapped her from a daydream, "Yes---there is just no air in here, that is all." He smiled and was about to reach over and put his arm around her but didn't. Though he caught himself in time, or so he thought; Ororo could read him like a book and sensed the aborted movement. But she didn't betray as much, turning her face to the window again to look out over a sea of vibrant luscious green as the doors shut noisily again on the dangerously overcrowded bus. The engine screamed in protest as the driver began to pull her back out onto the road.  
  
*  
  
Taking his wide-rimmed, wicker weaved hat from his head, Remy absently began to fan himself with it as he felt little beads of sweat running from the nape of his neck and down the back of his close-fitting T-shirt. They'd been on the bus for close to two hours and barely a word had passed between the pair. Even in the X-jet on the long trip down here, conversation had been preciously scarce; reduced to passing each other figures on their altitude and such. She'd seemed spiky ever since he'd returned to 'Tantie's this morning and he had to be honest---it surprised him that she'd react that way to one moment of indiscretion...only near indiscretion at that. They hadn't actually kissed...not really. He'd never seen her give him the cold shoulder as much as this and over something so petty. The more he thought about it, the more it agitated him and the more it agitated him, the more he got silently frustrated...  
  
He turned and looked over at her, doing it in such a away that even with her head turned to the window there was no way she could have failed to have noticed the action. And notice it Storm did but she wasn't in the mood to have it out with him on a rickety bus packed with strangers, whether they could understand English or not. She continued to look out of the window regardless as clouds drew together in a tight dark knit overhead above the tall trees and rain began to spit down in dribs and drabs against the lower half of the window. Closing her stunning eyes, she quietly relished the feel of the light specks flying in through the still open window, warm on her skin. The road seemed even more rough and bumpy when she'd blacked everything out from her sight; the bus being practically tossed down the narrow path as it hit every log, every fallen branch, every pothole and stone-come-boulder. But even so, she found a strange pocket of peace for herself as the incessant noise of squawking chickens, bleating lambs; the squealing of that brown and pink speckled pig, laughter and chatter in a foreign tongue fell away...  
  
Remy gave up and faced back to the front again, shifting obviously so that he disturbed the back support of the seat. He placed his hat back on and then after a moment remembered that the other reason he'd taken it off apart to use as a fan was because it scratched awfully at his forehead. So he took it off again and placed it on his lap.  
  
"Remy, will you please stop fidgeting?"  
  
He looked over at her darkly; she was still facing the open window with her eyes closed as best he could tell. After a long stretch had passed since her words, he said out the blue, trying to keep his voice light, "Are yo' gonna say somet'in' or are we gon' spend de whole trip like a pair o' mutes?"  
  
"What would you like me to say?"  
  
"Well, fo' a start, yo' could look at me when yaw talkin' t' me."  
  
Ororo did face him then, trying to look him directly in the eye but the shades blocked her path, whilst she had removed hers long ago. She had a hint of a smile on her face, something he hadn't expected. "You know, you sound just like a teacher." She teased and then made to turn back to the window but stopped short when he said;  
  
"I guess all dis cold shoulder shit is cause o' what 'appened at Mattie's." He said, sounding accusing this time; his timbre low and really quiet harsh.  
  
Storm faced him sharply then, turning her entire torso in his direction. "Me giving YOU the cold shoulder?" She retorted with a breezy...measured indignity, as only she could effect, "I was not the one trying to pretend like nothing happened."  
  
"De only reason Remy said nuhddin is coz he didn' t'ink yo'd wanna talk 'bout it chère."  
  
"So you thought going about like everything was hunky-dorey would make it go away?"  
  
Remy laughed inadvertently, but quickly stopped himself. He'd never heard her use such a throw-away expression as 'hunky-dorey' before. Then he thought seriously for a moment; this was getting blown up out of all proportion and it didn't need to be made an issue out of if they didn't want it to be. He opened his mouth, about to bid her to let it lie, when he realised that they had an audience. "Bonjour mah petit."  
  
Ororo looked at him in confusion until her attention was pulled to the seat in front of them where on a little girl was staring at the pair from over the back of the chair, sat in between two adults. Her big mahogany eyes looked up at them both as her chubby hands clung to the steel hand rail and her mouth rested on it. Taking her mouth away from pressing against the cold hard steel she smiled shyly at them and then quickly leant back down against it. "What yaw name mon chèrie?" He asked despite the fact that he knew she probably couldn't understand him. Sure enough she didn't answer but she did smile against the metal bar though. Then Remy did something that could have been a little risky but what the hell, he was sure the little darling wouldn't kick up a fuss. He put his finger to the side of his glasses and dipped them slightly so she could see his eyes. Hers widened in surprise at first but it wasn't fearful, moreover a look of wonder. Remy grinned, gave her a wink and pushed his glasses back up again.  
  
Storm smiled at Remy and then down at the sweet little Brazilian girl with her adorable jet black pig tails hanging down at either side of her round coffee coloured face. It just went to prove what she had been saying to him back at the mansion; he was great with kids when he wanted to be. Then she watched as he took his sun hat from his lap and proceeded to place it on the girls head. "Dere yo' go li'll one." She let out a small giggle as it drowned her tiny head, making her push it back so she could see. "It suit yo'." He told her earnestly, "Remy only looked like an' idiot in it anyway." She had no idea what he was saying but she laughed never-the-less. And Ororo did too. Any immediate tension dissipated there and then.  
  
* * *  
  
Township on the Xingu river...  
  
"...where did you find this place Remy?" Ororo shouted over the din of the pelting rain.  
  
Remy continued to concentrate on the delicate business of picking the rather complicated lock on the research station that sat just at the top of the hill from the rest of the mud hut village, half submerged in the trees. "I did a li'll diggin'." He called back. Despite the fact that he was stood beneath the wooden awning the rain was hammering down horizontally, hitting hard at his back.  
  
"You were a busy little bee this morning."  
  
"Hien?" He briefly looked over his shoulder at her, but his skilful hands never stopped working.  
  
"Nothing." Ororo looked around briefly, she was meant to be on look out but it was pitch black out here and only the immediate patch of ground close to the cabin was visible. Plus the rain was like a thick sheet too, making it almost impossible to see through. They wouldn't have heard or seen anything even if there had been somebody approaching.  
  
"Hey, can't yo' do somet'in' 'bout dis damn rain?" He hollered to her, "Makin' it 'ard to concentrate." His wet hand suddenly slipped from the lock, undoing most of the hard work he'd already done. "Fuck it." He muttered viciously.  
  
Ororo shone the torch she was holding onto the patch of ground just down the steps, noting that it was rapidly turning into a mudslide out there. Then she moved the torch's strong white beam onto the lock and came to lean against the door at Remy's side. "Would you like me to try?"  
  
After several whispered Cajun swears directed at the lock, he shook his head, "Non, Remy's....got it! Yes!" He hissed in quiet triumph. The lock popped open and he swung the door inwards. But to their shock and dismay an alarm squealed at them as soon as they stepped over the threshold. "Fuck!" Remy quickly flicked a light switch on, several halogen spot lights clicking into life overhead, and located the alarm box quickly. Pulling down the Perspex panel that guarded it he began tapping away methodically. This should have been a doddle.  
  
After a few seconds he was almost there, he could feel he was about to crack it, seven or eight codes away perhaps when Ororo said, "Remy move."  
  
"I almos' got it chère." His fingers continued working away with sharp rapid clicking as he used his free hand to push back his soaking bangs.  
  
"Move!" The way she bellowed the word, this time he just stopped what he was doing and stepped aside. Ororo came closer, a blue tinged white ball of light fizzling around her right hand as her eyes swirled with milky white. She held her hand up to the small rectangular box and several miniature shots of lightening sprang from the ball. With a cracking sound the box burst into fits of sparks and the ear-piercing of the alarm ceased immediately.  
  
"Lacks a certain...subtlety, but hey," Remy grinned at her; lopsided and effortlessly charming, "it got de job done."  
  
Ororo pursed her lips to keep from smiling as she moved into the room, shrugging off her heavy rucksack as she went. "Did you not think," She began as she placed her pack on a camp bed in the corner of the room and then turned back around to face him, "to check and see if a research station, that has---," she cast her eyes over all the computers and equipment in the vicinity, "millions of dollars worth of technical equipment would not have an alarm system too?"  
  
Remy shrugged and grinned again as he too pulled off his rucksack, "Guess I fo'got t' check dat small detail."  
  
She rolled her eyes at him, "Hmmm---I guess you did."  
  
Taking off her wicker hat and squeezing out the small amount of water her hair had managed to soak up, Ororo looked around the room. There wasn't all that much in there in truth, just two work stations with computers on them and a satellite phone, and then a lab bench running across the wall at the back, set up with microscopes and sinks. Next to it there were a couple of extremely expensive looking pieces of equipment but what they were for, she knew not. Three camp beds with thick coarse looking blankets were set in rows just behind her. Sitting down on the bed where she'd put down her rucksack, she asked, "What is this place for?"  
  
"Groups come up 'ere ev'ry now an' den, doin' research int' local flora an' faunae, I t'ink." He peeled his soaking black T-shirt off and then twisted it, wringing out all the rainwater it had managed to soak up, letting it splash down onto the wooden boards underfoot without a care. "Didn' really look int' it. De place was empty fo' a couple o' months wit' de rainy season---dat's all I cared 'bout."  
  
"Rainy season? Have you not noticed?" She quipped rhetorically as she took off her leather jacket that she'd had the good sense to take from her bag and put on earlier when they'd got off the bus to the torrential downpour, saving her from the worst of it, "It is almost always raining here---I think they are better off counting the dry seasons instead. They do not call it the rainforest for nothing."  
  
"V'ry funny." He replied dryly as he looked up at her whilst pulling a fresh T-shirt from his bag, but his eyes quickly dropped back down again when he saw her peeling off her wet combats, revealing endless shapely legs. It wasn't like he hadn't seen them a thousand times before, but...  
  
"Remy? What is wrong?"  
  
"Nuhddin, why?" He still wasn't looking at her as he folded out a plain white T-shirt and pulled it on quickly.  
  
"You just looked---." There was a furious knocking on the door that startled them both. They looked over at the door, then at each other and then back to the door.  
  
"Hello?" A man's deep voice called from the other side of the thick wood. "Hello? Is there anybody there?"  
  
"Merde." Remy muttered to himself and then held his hand out to indicate that Ororo should stay where she was as he walked cautiously over to the door. There was no way they could get out of this without facing whoever it was on the over side. Time for some spiel he supposed. "Who is it?" He called, close to the door, effecting an all-American accent flawlessly.  
  
"The local Police Warden." Came the reply, with slight impatience. Remy flashed Ororo a mischievous smile as he quickly glanced at her whilst she simply splayed her hands and hitched her shoulders as if to say; I don't know, you think of something.  
  
Remy took his shades out of his pocket and slipped them on and then without further ado, yanked the door open and faced the sopping wet warden with a personable smile. "Hello." He offered out his hand in greeting.  
  
The warden took it but definitely looked suspiciously at him and then into the room whereupon he caught sight of Ororo. "What are you doing here? The last group of scientists left three weeks ago---this place isn't meant to be occupied again until December." His accent was thick but his English was perfect.  
  
"Yes, I know but my colleague and I received a research grant quite unexpectedly and came up here at the last minute. We didn't have chance to phone anyone ahead." The lies simply rolled of his tongue without so much as a glitch or a stumble.  
  
"Where from?" He pressed. Remy was convincing but not so convincing that it didn't warrant further questions.  
  
"I'm Professor Chester Johnston from the University of Wisconsin and my colleague here is Professor---."  
  
"Professor N'Dare Achmed, University of Cairo." Ororo strode over to the door, holding her hand out confidently in greeting, only remembering at the last moment that she was only wearing her vest top and a pair of extraordinarily skimpy black knickers. Very professional. Remy folded his arms across his chest and then brought one hand to rest over his mouth in a stance that said he was thinking, when in fact he was simply trying to prevent himself from bursting into laughter at the look of surprise on the wardens face. "We are sorry we turned up without warning." She carried on regardless.  
  
"No-no problem." He turned back to Remy, "Something wrong with the alarm?"  
  
Remy took his hand away and drew in an accidentally sharp breath, "Yes." He looked briefly at the partly melted and still smoking box, prompting the warden to poke his head through the door and crane his neck around to look at it, "Urr, short circuit." Remy told him somewhat sheepishly.  
  
The warden looked at the pair, apparently satisfied that they seemed genuine enough. "If you need anything, just come down into the village and find me Or my house is the next one down the hill from here."  
  
"Sure thing." Remy nodded amiably and raised his hand in a motionless wave to see him off.  
  
"Do you think he believed us?" Ororo asked, her lips barely moving with the words as they watched the man in the plastic mackintosh inch his way carefully back down the stretch of slick mud.  
  
Remy looked over at her, his face a picture of confidence, "Why not, hien? Univ'rsity Prof's always prance aroun' nearly naked, chère." He deadpanned, then took his sunglasses off and moved away from the door. Ignoring his 'witty' quip, Ororo stayed for a moment longer until the man had disappeared into the mask of rain and darkness. Once he had gone she turned and closed the door behind her.  
  
*  
  
"Dis should help." Remy said as he spread out a huge six foot by five foot map of the area they needed to get to onto a fold-out table they'd found in one of the utility cupboards. The map had been hanging conveniently on the wall and had been marked with various coloured tacks, indicating the various spots in which endangered forest species were known to congregate and breed. But they'd all been removed without a second thought.  
  
Both dried, fed and dressed the pair of 'renegade' X-Men stood at either end of the table from each other, silently surveying the map; the size of the area they were searching and sheer magnitude of the task really hitting home for the first time. They were facing scouring an area that was well over five hundred kilometres wide, looking for the resting place of something that probably only spanned a mile if that. They weren't even sure what they were looking for looked like or in what kind of place it rested. If ever the term 'looking for a needle in a haystack' had been deemed appropriate to apply to a situation, it was most definitely this one.  
  
"This could take us weeks." Ororo sighed, rubbing the back of her neck with her right hand as she rested her other on her tilted hip.  
  
"Hmm." Remy made a despondent noise of agreement. "Now we away from pryin' eyes, yo' sure yo' can't fly us close t' it?" He asked as he looked up at her from where he was leaning forwards over the table.  
  
Ororo shook her head, then backtracked a little by announcing, "I may be able to fly us some of the way but...it would be impossible to navigate accurately from the air. We need to follow the paths, as far as they go, detailed on this map as best we can. The forest canopy is much too dense for us to do that from above." She stared down at the map wearily, "Besides..."  
  
"Besides wha'?"  
  
She took on a look of being vaguely perturbed, "Ever since we got here this evening I have been trying to attune myself to the local biosphere, but..." She shook her head and looked up at her friend, her hand dropping from her slender neck to rest on her other hip, "The forest...it is so...powerful. It literally creates its own atmosphere---its own weather system. This jungle is such a force in and of itself that I do not think it will bow, even for a Weather Mistress." She spoke her often-called term of reverence with the utmost modesty and perhaps a little sarcasm too. "Not for any length of time at any rate---I must admit that I feel exhausted simply being here."  
  
Remy descried her for a moment with an air of concern. It wasn't like Storm to concede that something had got the better of her. "By foot it is den chère." He said gamely and then took his attention back down to the topographic map for a time. The he went over to his backpack and retrieved the wooden flask with the old map in and brought it back over to the table. He was about to open it but stopped just short of taking the lid off, weighting it up in his hand instead. It felt somewhat heavier than it had before. Taking off the top curiously he wasn't too surprised when something heavy dropped out with a muted thud onto the table below. He recognised what it was instantly.  
  
"What is that?" Ororo asked as she leant in closer to look at the small black object with a tuft of something light protruding from the top of it like a shock of straw hair. She had an inkling as to its nature but asked anyway.  
  
Remy picked the carved piece of charred wood up as he placed the tube down. He issued a knowing and softly exasperated sigh. "Jesus Mattie-yo' evah give up?" he shook his head at the object and then smiled. "It a Voodoo charm," he turned it around in his hand as if examining it, "she always slippin' dem to me whenevah I go dere." He threw it over to Ororo; she caught it deftly with one hand. "She say she done wit' dat black magic crap, but sometime' she jus' can' 'elp herself."  
  
"To keep you from harm?" She inquired as she looked over it in a similar manner to Remy.  
  
"Oui chère," He picked up the smooth flask and took out the Spanish map, "Dat no' t' say dey work t'ough."  
  
"Well have you ever come to harm whilst having one about your person?"  
  
"Non." He admitted reluctantly as he put the parchment flat on the vast spread of glossy paper. "Bu' dat don' mean shit Stormy."  
  
"Of course it doesn't." She said airily as she placed the small figure down next to her, still looking interestedly at it.  
  
But the way she said it prompted him to ask, "What' yo' mean by dat?"  
  
"What do you mean, 'What do I mean?'"  
  
He eyed her suspiciously with dark eyes, giving her a slight grin from beneath hanging locks. "Ohhh---don' try an' lay dat one on me girl."  
  
"What?" She positively exuded false innocence.  
  
"Reverse psychology." He replied flatly, as if it were obvious; which it was. She quirked a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him and he took his attention back down to both of the maps, picking up a pencil that he'd put on the table moments before, ready and waiting. "Comparin' de position on dis map t' dese modern co-ordinates, we need t' get roughly 'ere." He circled the most likely location of where the symbol was indicating.  
  
Ororo stepped in closer and surveyed the area he'd marked. "The last of the known trails ends a hundred miles outside of that area." She observed quickly, running an extended figure in a trace over Remy's rough circle.  
  
"Oui chère-from dat poin' we find our own way blind, but hey," He looked over at her where she'd adopted the small slouching stance over the other side of the table, "if de Sahara an' Antarctica didn' get us, den why should dis, hien?"  
  
She blanched a little at his 'gallows humour' and then gave him a mildly chastising look as he grinned at her from the shadows outside of the spotlight of bright fluorescence that poured down from the metal shaded light bulb directly above their heads. Then, the look slipped a fraction, swiftly replaced by one of seriousness. "Look, I'm sorry 'Roro."  
  
"What for? The comment was not in that much bad taste."  
  
He gave a small shake of his head and straightened from the table, "Non, not fo' dat, fo' what I did-nearly did." He corrected after a pause.  
  
"There really is no need Remy." She smiled; her slow, serene smile that never failed to make him feel good. "It is forgotten already, my friend." If only that were true...  
  
"So, no 'ard feelin's?"  
  
"Absolutely none."  
  
"Good." He said, more than a little relieved and then reached down for the maps on the table. Folding each one separately, he went over to where his bag was rested, on the laboratory bench and tucked them safely inside. Making sure the several straps on it were secured good and tight, he picked it up and placed it down near to one of the beds instead; the bed that was at the other end of the room, widthways, from where Ororo had put hers. Sitting down on it so that it sagged slightly in the centre, he pulled off his fresh T-shirt and then swung his legs up onto it (his boots already having been taken off earlier). "We head off at firs' light." He stated casually as he cupped his hands beneath his head and closed his eyes. But not in an effort to sleep it seemed.  
  
Ororo said nothing, going over to the door and flicking off the main light switch, the bulbs dying down with a mellow fizz, and then went over to the bed she'd staked a claim to earlier. Taking her bag from it, she laid down immediately still fully clothed save for her boots.  
  
"Mon Dieu-it damn hot." Remy grumbled wearily to himself as he began to feel the dull press of the heavy, sultry air on his tanned skin, ghosting it with a light, glistening sheen of perspiration, "...too hot even fo' dis Southern boy, I t'ink." He muttered as an after thought, shifting on the scratchy top blanket that was uncomfortable as hell and obviously army surplus in origin. Taking one hand from behind his head he rested it on his bare, hairless chest as it went up and down with his fairly shallow breaths. There was far too much humidity in the air for deeper ones. After a time of listening to nothing but the pounding rain and the start of some soft, baritone rumbles of distant thunder, Remy opened one eye, lifted his head up just slightly and peeked a look at the other side of the now dark room. "Yo' still awake?"  
  
"No."  
  
He took the hint and faced back forwards, closing his eye as he moved his head a couple of time on the palm of his hand, finally settling into a satisfactory position. "Bon nuit chère."  
  
"Good night." She replied barely above a whisper, but she wasn't tired and her eyes where wide, wide open, looking up at the bug-speckled window above her. All she could see was the relentless drive of the sheet rain on the black backdrop. But further illumination would come soon...she could feel it. She let the rapture of the rain and wind mesmerise her for a time, until another sound over took it; that of Remy's rhythmic breathing as he finally settled into a restful sleep---sounding massive in the stillness of the room.  
  
She let her mind drift for a while but couldn't stop it from latching onto something eventually. The way he'd looked at her, or hadn't as the case may be as she'd taken her wet trousers off. It was strange, because there was something more potent in the fact that he'd diverted his gaze than if he'd gawped at her brazenly. The man wasn't ashamed of casting his connoisseur's eye over any woman whether they be lover, friend or stranger. The one thing she'd never seen him do was actively shy away from doing so. The fact that he had done that oddly enough made the fact that his gaze could be potentially...sexual, all the more obvious. She'd never had reason to entertain the idea before and now her head was positively spinning with confusion from the mere thought of it. But maybe she wouldn't have been considering any of this if it hadn't been for what had come before it.  
  
She sighed and her flawless brow creased slightly; that near kiss had subtlety altered everything. In a way that Ororo found distinctly...disquieting. But sifting through the ragged pieces of the day in her mind it was only now, with the company of the wild weather as her lullaby, that she was beginning to admit to herself why. Having spent the whole day being alternately angry with him for doing it and then more annoyed that he wouldn't acknowledge the fact that he'd even done it until earlier, she was only now beginning to recognise what the other feeling in her really was.  
  
It was regret.  
  
She regretted it; she regretted it terribly. Not what Remy did, not the close feel of him, with that familiar musky tobacco scent, his soft, spicy cologne, the warm brush of his lips on hers with a painfully delicate reverence...No, it wasn't that-she regretted pulling away from him...and even more so that he'd allowed her to without contest. Maybe it was just curiosity getting the better of her, who knew...  
  
Swallowing down a lump that had formed in her throat, her ocean eyes focused softly as a streak of blue/white slashed the night sky like a dagger with a loud crack of a whip.  
  
-TBC- 


	9. Chapter9

Tedabug, Yellowdragon fly, Tania, Aimee Belle -you're all stars!!  
  
Poussin= Chick  
  
Chapter.9.  
  
Somewhere deep in the Amazon rainforest, Central Brazil...  
  
"Give me yaw hand chère." Remy was insistent this time around as he reached his rough palmed hand down in Storm's direction. With a look of resignation she took it; the muscles of his arm tensing, becoming much more defined as he helped her up onto the ridge of the steeply inclining jungle floor. They'd been ascending up this suddenly mountain-esque terrain for close to an hour now and still the top looked to be nowhere in site, though by now it was most probably quite close. It had been the toughest part of their three day journey so far. Their legs were lost in vegetation as it reached almost three feet high, skirting about their waists; rough tangling vines and broad sharp edged leaves. Dense, coarse; flowing with the saccharine yet bitter assault of sticky sap, the environmental remnants of which sat distastefully on the tips of their tongues, no matter how much water was drunk to wash it away, or what they ate.  
  
The days had proved to be gruelling, no matter their stamina, physical strength or battle-hardened determination. As Ororo had predicted, the jungle was a law unto itself for the most part---unyielding and unforgiving. Though she had managed to take them a fair way, along on the crest of a cooler northerly wind coming in from the far away Atlantic Ocean and they sailed for a fair while on its strength, aided considerably by Storm of course. But after a time the force of the thick growth that blanketed the earth below trying to claim the ethereal entity for itself plunged her into a losing battle and their inability to navigate from their lofty position forced them, a day into their trek, to take to land...  
  
And so here they were, two days later, pulling and fighting their way, practically on their hands and knees, up the side of this gargantuan hill that seemed to have no end to it; boots sinking into black marshy mud. But they had decided to take this arduous path as they had surmised that it would be the quickest way to get onto the last of the recognisable trails on the research station map that they had 'commandeered'.  
  
"Almos' dere girl." Remy exclaimed with a breathless optimism as they continued up the vertical slope, training his eyes on the hole in the trees at the top that had finally come into view, from which brilliant light shone down; the rest of the hill being dowsed in a deep green shade that sometimes appeared blue when eyes became to accustomed to its gloom. They grabbed at random tufts, yanked and heaved, eventually clamouring their way to the meagre summit in the sweltering forest. Once there, they were finally able to stop for a while; standing up straight for the first time in over an hour and slowly getting their breath back. But that hard earned breather was almost struck from them again as they cast their eyes over the spectacular view---what it meant for the mammoth size of their quest forgotten for a moment.  
  
The raised ground they now stood on, banked by thick, textured trees, sloped down again just as steeply and then splayed out into an ocean of green. It rose and fell like a vast unmade bed, pockets of acrid green here, soft, mellow sap green there and then deeper clusters of an almost black nature. This spectacle went on forever into the distance and one would think that to reach the end of it would be to fall off the edge of the earth itself...The sky stretched out above in an endless plane too, the clearest cerulean blue that has ever been seen. Not a mark or patch to scar its enchanting serenity. Only the presence of the bright white orb that burned a whole in the sky and shimmered with its own able fire...  
  
Remy slacked his shoulders and let his back pack slide off his cinnamon tanned arms. Setting it down at his front, he unzipped a side pocket and took out the 'borrowed' map, folded into a neat rectangle of the immediate area that they were trekking through. He held it up in front of him, studying it carefully. They were currently above the area marked Pará on the map, standing atop of a blue line on the terrain. Placing the map back in the bag, he raised his hand to his forehead to shield against the sun as he looked out over the jungle canopy and then down the incline that they needed to navigate down to get onto the path he'd provisionally marked out.  
  
"Where to now?" Ororo asked; the only sound in the world at that moment, her dulcet voice.  
  
Remy sighed as he continued to look down the thickly covered muddy slope, not relishing the task of tentatively edging their way down it---it would take another hour at least, perhaps longer. "We go straight down chère." He pointed and then swatted at a large green bug that landed on his forearm. It flew away.  
  
"Maybe if we follow this ridge along there will be a better way down?" She looked down to where he was. It seemed much steeper than the one they'd just struggled up---practically sheer cliff face, dotted with the thin trunks of new trees amongst the vegetation.  
  
"Non," Remy shook his head and then turned to Storm, "It put us miles off course, an' add an' extra couple o' hours onto de journey." He looked down again, "We go down." He insisted.  
  
"If you insist." She said with mock trepidation and then without further recourse for thought she stepped down onto the first part of the slope, making sure she had a firm foot hold and taking hold of a thick, sticky root to ease herself down.  
  
Remy watched her go at first, pulling on his rucksack again and then he had a bright spark---it wasn't an idea, calling it an idea would belie it with a certain amount of intelligence. No---this was one of Remy's 'don't-think- of-the-consequences-and-hope-it'll-turn-out-alright' moments of insane inspiration. "Heads up girl! Yo' got no sense o' adventure?"  
  
Ororo looked up at him in surprise and confusion, "What are you--."  
  
"Dere is a quicker way t' de bottom." With that, he launched himself down, skidding along on his back, using his rucksack as some kind of sledge.  
  
"REMY!" Ororo cried out with shock as she watched him disappear through the foliage. She only had seconds to think of what the hell to do next but in the end, gut instinct took over and she followed suite---loosening her tightly held grip on the plants around her and letting her body fly into free fall.  
  
The world around her turned into a gyrating blur of green and brown, mixed with far off occasional glimpse of bright blue. She felt the sting and whip of tall stems lashing her skin as she skidded down, feeling she were picking up pace as she went along, speeding at a hundred miles an hour, or so it seemed. Every now and then she'd shoot through a space that was already cleared; snapped and bent roots to the left and right, following in Remy's path. Over the thundering noise in her ears of her falling, and her automatic hollering---sometimes she'd catch Remy's shouts through the confusion; a roaring laughter in the rapid motion. It felt like it would never end as she closed her eyes to the chaos around her and simply let herself glide...  
  
Remy reached the bottom with a thump, pitching forwards and miraculously almost finding his feet---but not quite miraculous enough as he was propelled forwards, skipping and tripping, only to land face first in a bed of mossy green. "Huhoouff!" The sound was forced from his chest, pushed up his throat and punched from his mouth as he lay spread-eagled on the soft, moist ground. A piercing cry and squawk of birds went up around him as he settled in the shaded nook; rattling the canopy of trees above his head as on-mass, a flock of bright Macaws flew off from their surprise intruder. He looked up just in time to see the last few flashes of bright red, blue and gold zip through the green and off into the mostly hidden sky. Then he let his face collapse back down to the floor again, grateful for the cool wet of its surface as the sting finally hit every inch of his body. "Man, dat was fuckin' stupid." He muttered to himself and then burst into a muffled laughter, his body shaking against the jungle floor.  
  
*  
  
Storm opened her eyes as she neared the foot of the hill, her gaze catching the white and black of Remy's clothes, just being able to make out that he was turning his body over to watch her speedy descent. Hitting the bottom, her body pitched forwards in a similar manner to her comrade's, sailing through the air and landing just across from him in the small glade-like cusp of trees; having not the time to summon even the smallest breeze to break her fall or soften her landing.  
  
Remy gathered himself together enough to push his body up onto his elbows, still laughing a little through his harsh breaths as he looked over at Storm, slowly turning herself over onto her back a little way from him. "Wild ride, hien?" He jested and then flopped back down onto his back, exhausted.  
  
Ororo struggled half up and grabbed a chunk of the first thing that came to hand; wet moss and a clump of straggly grass that came from the earth by its root. "You stupid idiot!" She cried at him as she lobbed her slap-dash ammo in his direction.  
  
He simply raised a hand and batted it away as he laughed even more, closing his eyes to the trees above as his head rested back down once more.  
  
"It is not funny!" She shouted at him as she tried to move, only for her weak and adrenaline fused body to be dragged back down again by the weight of her mud caked backpack. So she settled for a moment on hurling insults from where she lay; her velvet voice raising to a not often heard level. "Do you intend to kill us both before we are done here?" She shouted in true anger, making Remy laugh even more, "Stop laughing Remy!---that was not funny!" But even as she said the words and despite meaning every ounce of their intended venom, her voice cracked into laughter too, "Stop it!" She laughed and then the floodgates opened and she couldn't stop herself. Letting her body roll from its side to lay flat on the floor neither of them could move for a few moments more---their mirth racking through their aching bodies more than the pain for now. It felt so good to let go...for both of them.  
  
After a time they both calmed, forcing themselves to sit up and sort out the disarray caused by their foolhardy shortcut. "Ev'ryt'in' still in tact chère?"  
  
"I think so---just about." She replied as she removed several twigs and leaves from various places about her body. Leaning forwards she felt something uncomfortable pulling at the front of her top. Reaching down into it, she wasn't too amused to find a soggy clump of weeds had found its way down into her bra. But holding it in her hand the energy and mischievousness of the moment over took her.  
  
"Hey!" Remy called as the wet mass hit him on the side of the head with a dreadful splat, accompanied by the wonderful sound of Ororo's low, warm chuckle. "Remy's gon' get yo' fo' dat." He warned playfully as he snidely felt the ground on the other side of his body from her and picked up a chunk of his own sloppy armoury.  
  
"You just try it Monsieur." She laughed as she watched his hand creeping--- ducking deftly, just in time to see it whizzing past but what she didn't count on was the second barrage seconds later. "Argh!" She yelped joyfully as a cold splatter hit her partially turned back as she tried, in vain, to shield herself from it; connecting with her neck and slipping down her shoulder until it settle between the bag and her skin. "Ohhhh!" She moaned as she attempted to reach it but couldn't quite get.  
  
"Awww---what wrong 'Roro?" He asked with mock sympathy, "Yo' can dish it out but yo' can't take it?!" He grinned at his friend as he stood up from the mossy earth and started towards her.  
  
"Oh, shut up and give me a hand." Her attempts to reach the uncomfortable clot failed. Moving her hand away she sat still as Remy kneeled down behind her and scooped up the mess, throwing it to the side. The feel of his hand brushing against her skin was different than before...She moved forwards quickly and started to stand up. Remy followed suite, rocking back on the balls of his feet and then pushing up, wiping the crap off his hands on the thighs of his trousers as he did so. "Check my pack, will you?" She asked coolly, "Make sure it has not ripped or been damaged."  
  
Dutifully, Remy stepped over and did as she asked. "Non chère---it fine."  
  
Without a word, Ororo went around the back of him and checked his over too. Apart from an insignificant tear on one of the pockets and a good covering of mud, his was passable as well. "We should carry on." She said as she started off, following the ragged line that a small stream was cutting through a line of huge trees behind them, their toffee coloured trunks the size of houses. "It will be dark in two hours---and I think the rain will start again soon." She gave a quick glance toward the heavens, despite its clarity up there at present, what they could see of the sky from down there, the distant buzz of the rains presence sparked through her body like muted pins and needles; a deeply buried itch that could not be scratched.  
  
Raising his forearm, he wiped it across his forehead; sweltering even beneath this protective shade of millions of leaves. He decided there was only one thing for it. Disengaging himself from his pack for a moment, Remy quickly pulled off his wet and dirty white T-shirt, tucking it into the waistband of his combats like a mechanics rag. It was way past noon, and they were out of direct sunlight, so he thought he'd be safe to go without it.  
  
"Stormy---wait up!" He called to her retreating figure, slowly getting lost in the mass of heavy rainforest. Taking one last look around at the small glen, he went after her.  
  
*  
  
It almost appeared like perpetual darkness when travelling through the thick growth of the upper region of the Amazon basin. Not a black darkness of night but one all of its own that existed neither in day nor night. The canopy above only afforded the merest splintered rays of light to filter their way through to the ground; bright shards that gave off the appearance of dappled sunbeams shinning through the stained glass window of a grand cathedral---and what cathedral could be more grand than this one created by nature herself? The forest was peculiarly absent of wildlife during the daylight hours. There was of course the odd shuffle of a land dwelling creature, unseen beneath the undergrowth, the shrill communication of small black spider monkey's as they threw themselves carelessly from tree to tree, sure of their safety, no fear of death. It was the birds and insects that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once---invisible but marked out by their twitter and clicking buzz.  
  
As of yet the rain had not come and the light that managed to slip through the trees was now as red as the sky above , creating a positive kaleidoscope on the greenery. Night would fall soon but they could take comfort that much progress had been made. The pair forged forwards, hacking away with the machetes---the other items they'd taken from the station, along with the second map and a Davey lamp. Remy was in front now, leading the way, making large, potent, controlled swipes at the tall thick stemmed leaves that had blocked their path for the past hour. He stopped for a moment, Ororo coming to a rest close behind him, letting the wide blade fall to the side, touching lightly against his leg with its flat. With his other hand he unhooked his water canteen from the loop on his belt and flicked the cap off with his thumb. Tipping his head back, he took a greedy gulp, the cap on a string banging quietly against the metal casing. Taking it from his lips eventually he made a satisfied noise and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  
  
"Yo' want some?" He turned to the side and held the dull grey container out to Storm, even though she had one of her own.  
  
She declined with a small shake of the head. "Not yet, thank-you." She looked at him carefully, noticing the flushness in his face, a dusting of red beneath the caramel tan that had got noticeably darker as the day had gone on---even under here, in the protecting shade. "We should rest for a while." She told him then, watching a fat clear bead run down the side of his face and drip from his bristly jaw.  
  
"Non, we should push on a bit further chère," He recapped the rounded bottle and hooked it back on at his hip and looked up at the 'ceiling', "Befo'e we lose de ligh'."  
  
Ororo shrugged off her backpack and threw it to the floor, flattening down some of the tall stems. She sat down on her makeshift mat of leaves and looked up at him brazenly. "We are stopping---besides, it will rain soon."  
  
Remy looked up again, a sceptical look on his face as he wiped absently at another large salty bead. "Don' look like it gon' rain t' me." He said, unconvinced as he looked back down at her.  
  
Storm gave a low laugh and one of her slow smiles as she leant back, supporting herself on the turned down palms of her hands. "You are doubting my weather report?" She raised a perfect eyebrow with the mock indignity of it all making Remy grin his devilish grin. "The weather can turn on a six pence out here my friend---I should know." She glanced around, surveying the immediate area but it was clear from her eyes that her mind was somewhere far, far from here. "It is just like the Savage Land." She added quietly, almost contemplatively.  
  
Remy sniffed, conveying his indifference as he joined her on the floor, inwardly glad of the rest on a physical level but mentally wanting to continue---sitting around gave him too much time to think and that was something he distinctly wanted to avoid at the moment. There was far too much bouncing up there for his liking. Hacking away mercilessly at poor defenceless plant life that blocked their path succeeded in circumventing that quite nicely indeed.  
  
"Okay, five minu'es---dat's all."  
  
"Agreed." Ororo said as she laid back against the relative coolness of the ground, resting her eyes for moment, her hands settling atop of one another over her flat stomach. The silence that passed between them no longer felt awkward but had thankfully turned back into their familiar comfortable acquaintance. Though the 'kiss' was by no means forgotten by either party. If only it were that easy...  
  
Remy's dark orbs fell onto Storm's body like they had back at 'Tantie's when he'd observed her quietly from the safety of the doorway. But this time he was much closer...close enough to touch. He swallowed down, suddenly feeling the need to grab for his flask again. If only it had something a little stronger in it, he thought drolly---even a cigarette would do at this moment in time. But rather stupidly, he'd come all the way out here and forgotten to bring a single one and the chances of finding a convenience store were...well, somewhere in the region of minus zero to minus a billion and numbers infinitely beyond. He ran his hand through his thick hair, pushing it back from the fringe down. It was so damp and heavy with a days hard trekking that it stayed there instead of flopping instantly back down as it usually did. It was no use though---no matter what he did to draw his eyes away they were pulled back like the opposite poles of magnets, incapable of resisting.  
  
He had to admit to feeling a certain sense of dismay with himself as he traced the flat dip of her belly from beneath her cotton top, raising slightly where the hollow of the ribcage began, those long soft hands clasped together lightly just above that. Up and up...up to the gently rising and falling curve of her breasts. He tore his eyes away before that sense of dismay turned into a sense of disgust with himself instead. So, it was still there, he thought, that nagging, new feeling that had began when he'd watched her sleeping on that bed, surrounded by the dance of fairies in the bathing light. He'd thought, or perhaps hoped that after the good nights sleep and spending the last three days concentrating on abstinence and training his mind to think of other things, that he'd got over those crazy thoughts. But as he looked at her now he came to realise that he hadn't they were still very much there. Why had he lost his head out there on the veranda? Why had he let himself do this...?  
  
"Remy LeBeau, yaw a damn fool." He muttered softly under his breath; the sounds barely forming on his tongue. But at this moment in time he could not tell himself why he was a fool. There were two possible options---and both of them scared the hell out of him. Perhaps it would be best just not to think about them at this point. He could deal with them later. Without warning the small amount of light above changed, the red filtering out, turning to a puce---a colour Remy had never seen the sky turn before as he faced upwards, studying it through the intermittent gaps.  
  
It came hurtling down, its trajectory straight as an arrow; the teardrop of clear, all on its own---a courageous Private ahead of the coming army. Remy closed his eyes just before it hit, hearing keenly the splash as the single drop of rain exploded against his cheeks. Cold and fresh. He looked down at Storm as she lay there, already anticipating her reaction; her captivating bright eyes still shaded by deep lids but the smile upon her full lips said everything.  
  
Remy opened his mouth to make a crack about not being smug in the correctness of her prediction but the words were halted on his tongue when the deluge hit; hard and fast.  
  
Ororo didn't even make an attempt to protect them from its barrage, simply getting up from the ground and hoisting on her bag. "We should find somewhere to shelter for the night." She called to him over the pounding sound of the rain. Taking her machete blade from her belt, she took over the lead, cutting through the growth, sensing that Remy was close behind her.  
  
"Yo' not gon' say, 'I tol' yo' so'?" He asked in an obviously feigned stroppy voice.  
  
Ororo glanced quickly over her shoulder at him, never stopping at her task as she gave him a short warm smile. "I do not need to!" She just caught his sarcastic sigh through the swift, unceasing beating that resounded all around them and it made her chuckle.  
  
*  
  
It was only a few minutes before they came across somewhere that would be sufficient for their needs; up a small rock encrusted embankment there was a fairly flat space of earth beneath a gigantic tree that rose so high that it almost could have not ended; its summit scrapping the outer atmosphere. The ground around it was an interval of unhindered, practically black soil, like it had been charred by a ferocious heat, though in truth all of the forests fertile clay was the same tone. As fast as they could, the pair erected their abode for the evening and whatever nights hence; a simple sheet of khaki tarpaulin, suspended from three guyropes. The longest one was attached to the gnarled, aged bark of the huge tree that provided much in the way of shelter in itself, whilst the other two brought the waterproofing down in a pyramid shape, making taut attachment to the malleable earth. Fixing up and then lighting their Davey Lamp, they rolled out their sleeping mats on the bare ground beneath their thin plastic canopy and crawled inside. They turned around once in, so that they could see out, leaning up against the knobbly vine encrusted sleeping giant at their backs.  
  
"Mon Dieu." Remy exclaimed as he ran both hands through his hair and squeezed out practically a bucket full of water. It ran over his shoulders and then continued in quick rivulets down his muscularly defined chest. "It really know 'ow t' come down out 'ere, hien?" A day had yet to go by where they hadn't suffered the onslaught of a powerful downpour.  
  
Ororo simply gazed out at the striking horizontal lines, feeling utterly relaxed to be able to let them come and leave them to their own devises. She preferred it best when she could let the weather be what it would, without her interference. Her gaze moved back inside the shelter when Remy leant forwards and turned his bag over and started rummaging around for something. "What are you doing?" She asked quietly, her voice having taken on an inner calmness, more so than usual as she concentrated on the sensation of the rain running through her.  
  
He glanced at her over his shoulder, "I got an idea." He reported back as he crawled on all fours towards the entrance of their tent and put whatever it was in his hand on the ground just outside of its cover.  
  
"Another one?" Ororo remarked, "Let us hope it is an improvement on your last, shall we?" She ignored his look as he clamoured back in, tilting her head to see what he'd put out there. It was one of the oblong tin basins they'd been using as dishes. She watched as it rapidly filled with rainwater.  
  
"May as well make de mos' o' it chère." His voice strained a little as he leant back on the mattress of harsh, untreated cotton and thin foam, resting his head in his cupped hands. "Anyway, what yo' mean, 'improvement on yaw las''," He snorted, "Got us from A t' B in nex' t' no time didn' it?"  
  
"Yes, whilst nearly killing us in the process may I remind you." She reached down and ran the tips of her fingers over a raised and red scratch that ran down the side of his sleek torso, just above the bruise that was still faintly visible from his tussle in the Danger Room with Bobby, days ago. But her fingers hesitated just before they made contact---something which jolted her slightly, although she didn't show it; though eventually she did press them lightly to his body and traced the grainy feel of the small wound inflicted on their impromptu ride. Pulling her hand away she could have sworn she had felt his body tense as she'd touched him. She looked up at his face; he was staring absently out at the forest, his expression betraying no mark of what she thought she'd felt. Perhaps she had just imagined it in her own apprehension, their... discomfort not having disappeared altogether...  
  
After a short time of silence with only the beat of the rain above them like it was falling on the taut skin of a bass drum in random rhythm, Remy turned to her and said, "Yo' enjoyed it dhough, didn' yo'? C'mon, admit it!" He grinned up at her with all his charm, searching her face with those dark, marble eyes. "Mebbe yo' should try lettin' go a li'll mor' often petit."  
  
Hitching her knees up close to her body, she wrapped her arms around her shins, holding them to her as she replied, "You know full well that I can not Remy." Turning from his suddenly intent gaze she looked outside, adding, "You are aware of what happens when I do."  
  
"Ahh, screw de weather!" He said flippantly and much to Ororo's surprise. "Yo' take t' much responsibility on yo'self, yo' know dat?" He sounded peeved now, like the subject really bothered him, suggesting that it was something that he'd thought about a lot. Which indeed it was; Remy'd watched for years as Storm was weighted with burden after burden, each one ever-so-slightly crushing the spark inside, forcing her to retreat inside of herself just to survive and her happiness be damned.  
  
"If only it were so easy to brush it aside my friend," She sighed wistfully and perhaps a little regretfully too, "Too many years have past...to many battles have been fought..." She relinquished her hold around her legs and stretched them out, succeeding in getting comfortable against the tree at last.  
  
"It nevah too late t' do somet'in' 'bout it girl." He smiled slightly---the quirk born of some private thought running through his mind like the smell of something long forgotten jogging the memory and renewing lost pleasures. He was thinking of their wild days. "Yo' remember Virginia Beach?" His smile turned mischievous as he inclined his head back, just enough to see her reaction, to see if she remembered too.  
  
"How could I forget?" She effected a mortified expression, which made Remy laugh and shake his head.  
  
"Dat poor man---'e nevah knew wha' hit 'im." He laughed again, throaty from too many cigarettes over the years, his whole body moving with the gesture, "Lit'rally!"  
  
This all stemmed from one of their jaunts along the east coast. They'd found themselves in Virginia Beach, chasing a tip about a stolen Caravaggio hanging in some ocean-side villa, just ready and waiting to be returned to its owner in Reggio di Calabria. As the crusading thieves where awaiting nightfall to pull off their heist within its safe cover, they hung as casually as possible around the cafés on the beach front. Ororo was making much of the opportunity to practice her nimble finger dipping---into other peoples pockets that is. Unfortunately, at that time she may have been served better by practicing her power controls as she gradually became more aware and attuned to them all over again. For as one white-suited tourist strolled by, blissfully unaware that he was a marked man---the outline of his wallet pressing clearly against the back pocket of his too tight trousers---dexterous brown fingers slipped casually in to relive him of his burden. Maybe it was her lack of discipline or perhaps the rush of adrenaline accompanying her thief's sensibility---whatever it was her powers manifested themselves at the most inconvenient moment. Small sparks of electric blue bounced from her finger tips, to her utter horror, setting the man's pale slacks alight in a tiny burst of flame. The young girl was absolutely bereft, mortified and at a complete loss at what to do as the man span around in a panic. Luckily for both of them, a calm and collected Cajun kept his head, dowsing the rising flames that were by now licking at the edges of his jacket with his glass of beer. But before questions could be asked or accusations thrown he hoisted up his young companion and ran--- the cafe owner that shouted after them down the flat stretch of boulevard seeming more concerned about the unpaid bill they'd just run out on rather than what the girl had done to set some unfortunate victims pants on fire.  
  
Ororo wiped a tear born of laughter from her left eye as she settled her head back against a protruding piece of thick vine. "I will never forget the look on that poor man's face," She said as Remy crawled to the front of the tarpaulin and retrieved the tin dish that was now brimming with fresh clear water, perfectly safe to drink. Replenishing his water canister he held his hand out for Storm to give him hers, which she did, undoing the top before she passed it to him.  
  
"Well, I don' t'ink de homme would 'ave fo'got dat in a hurry needuh." He chuckled as his eyes concentrated on tipping the water from the corner of the tin tub, guiding it safely into the top of the flask with perfectly steady hands. "It no' ev'ry nigh' yo' get some li'll Weadduh Imp settin yo' pants on fire."  
  
"Weather Imp?!" To that she took light-hearted exception.  
  
"Oh, c'mon chère!" Remy laughed as he finished filling her bottle and recapped it, tossing it back over to her, "Dat's what yo' were back den an' yo' know it." He cheekily raised an eyebrow at her, "Dere won't nuhddin o' de Goddess in dat petit poussin, lemme tell yo'."  
  
Ororo nodded in reluctant agreement, feeling slightly embarrassed at some of the things she used to get up to back then. Things that nobody else in the world knew of except for Remy and she was glad about that...not that she was too proud or regal to admit to some of the things she used to get up to in order to survive, just that he knew more about her, about what was truly inside than anyone else in the world. That was including Jean, Logan and even the Professor. It felt good to know she had that one special person...Then her musing expression dropped a fraction. "Maybe that was a good thing...not to be the Goddess."  
  
Her slightly desolate tone made Remy stop what he was doing and look back at her. Scooting himself backwards on his mat he came up to her side and wrapped his arm around her---to hell with the way touching her was beginning to make him feel. He was always there for her as she was for him. "Goddess or li'll scamp---yo' know dis boy love yo' whichevah way he fin' yo'."  
  
Storm let her head roll down onto his shoulder, the heat of his skin pressing to her cheek. "I know." She whispered as she stared out into the now dark forest, bringing her right hand to rest gently just over his heart, feeling it beat underneath her palm. It had turned to night outside now and this was the time that this gigantic cradle of life truly came alive. Everything that supported and was supported by this vast ecosystem seemed to come from hiding when the light faded, replaced only by an impenetrable blackness.  
  
As he grew accustomed to the feel of her at his side, Remy breathed in deeply; the air was torrid and had a distinct smell---not of sap anymore, but the smell of rain, fresh and light. Or was that her? Beneath the sandalwood there was always a hint of something else, something wilder--- uncharted and unattainable. He moved his fingers that clasped around her bare shoulder. When he lifted them they felt sticky inside his glove. "Hey, yo' know yo' were sayin' dat bein 'ere makes it a real eff'rt to use yaw powers?"  
  
"Yes." She replied curiously, lettin her eyes roll up to look at him.  
  
"Den mebbe yo' should t'ink 'bout livin' near a rainforest, hien?" He jested.  
  
"What are you going on about now Remy?"  
  
"Den yo' won't 'ave to worry 'bout upsettin' no damn weadduh system---yo' could do as yo' please. Fuck ev'ryone else. "  
  
Ororo laughed warmly against his chest, "You are insane you know that?" She turned to look up at him, "But you still make me happy." She added with a sincere and contented expression.  
  
"I aim t' please ma'am." Remy dothed an imaginary cap; accompanying the motion with his best 'Southern hospitality' tone.  
  
"Though," She began with obvious seriousness, "perhaps it would be preferable to the mansion right now."  
  
"Oui---but yo' don' mean dat, no' really." Remy remained convinced that Ororo was only feeling a little bruised still from her earlier run in with Xavier...he was sure of that. The school and everything it stood for meant more to Storm than life itself---it always would. "Dose kids...De Dream. Yo' built yaw whole life aroun' all dat. Yo' be dragged kickin' an' screamin' bef're yo' gave dat up."  
  
Storm tried to think of something to retort with but nothing came because he was right---it did mean everything to her. Or what would her life have amounted to? she thought on a cynical note. Letting her hand slip down Remy's damp torso she hooked her hand around his nimble yet sturdy waist, clasping just above his hip; the way in which his body tensed earlier completely forgotten as they thoughtlessly slipped into the old routine. "Do you realise we forgot to contact Charles and tell him where we are?"  
  
"Hmph! I didn' t'ink 'bout dat at all t' be 'onest." It was the truth, he really hadn't. All thoughts of the school had gone completely from his mind until moments ago.  
  
"We told him we would only be a day---at most."  
  
"T' hell wit' it," He joked playfully, "Let 'em sweat it fo' a while---let 'em t'ink Stormy's no' de reliable li'll Girl Scout dey all t'ought she wuz."  
  
"If only I could---but unfortunately I think that Girl Scout has taken a firm hold." There was definitely sarcasm in there somewhere.  
  
Remy pulled her closer to him, bringing his left arm up so that he could envelope her totally---he too forgetting any qualms and falling into their frequent habit. "I wouldn't bet on it chère." He said slyly as he shifted about on his mat to get more comfortable, when the tip of his boot hit something hard. Peering down at the object, he suddenly remembered about them as he saw what he'd just kicked. Laying the sole of his boot flat on the dark ground, he got just the tip underneath the small, fairly flat box and with a slight jerk of his foot, flipped it up into the air. It sailed in an arch straight towards him as he took his left hand from where it had been placed, over his right on her smooth shoulder, and caught the object expertly.  
  
"C'hards?" He asked as he waved the un-open, red backed pack of playing cards in front of Ororo's line of vision.  
  
"Why not?" She agreed affably as she pulled back from his shoulder, releasing her hold on his waist. But as soon as she did, she found she missed the feel of it beneath her palm and the sultry warmth of his skin on her cheek...  
  
They played for an hour or so by the light of the Davey Lamp that attracted any number of subtly busy insects, all with their own distinctive sound, but it was mainly moths; attracted by its brilliance, singeing their beautiful moon-pale wings against its heat. As they played everything from Rummy to Black Jack, they chatted about old times and recent ones too; all inconsequential, all light-hearted---just what they needed to remind themselves that they weren't just superheroes with the weight of the entire world on their shoulders, Homo Superiors, Goddess, or thieves on quests for supernaturally powerful artefacts. They were people too---just like everybody else.  
  
* * *  
  
Westchester, the Xavier Institute, in Cerebra...  
  
Jean Grey-Summers removed the head apparatus of Professor Xavier's revolutionary machine; relief flooding her body to have the pressure and weight of it from her neck and shoulders. She shook her head to ease out the ghostly presence of it from her muscles, her lose red hair flailing as she did so and then placed the helmet back on to its stand. As she approached the doors of the space-age looking pod that Hank had designed, they opened automatically, sliding noiselessly into the curved walls. Reaching behind her head, at her neck, she gathered her thick straight hair up in her hands; easing off the bobble that waited at her wrist and wrapping it around the deep red mass so that it hung in a messy bun close to her nape.  
  
The doors closed behind her with equal discretion as the red-head neared the main door of the outer chamber of the Cerebra room; quickly punching in her personal access code that let only senior X-Men in and out, each of them possessing their own whether they were telepaths or not just in case something should happen to Jean or Charles whilst they were in there. The metalic corridor was silent as the grave, it was so far beneath the Institute; lit by a series of blindingly light fluorescent tubes set into the walls on either side, close to the ceiling. It was getting late but she was fairly sure the Professor would still be up; he had some Economics and Modern Political History papers to mark and hand back to the senior class first thing in the morning. Rather uncharacteristically he'd left them until the last possible moment, but, to be fair, he had had other things on his mind. Though Jean was hoping that she could help put his mind to rest with what she'd found out---but it had raised more questions than it had answered in truth.  
  
She reached the lift at the end of the corridor, the one that stopped more- or-less opposite Charles classroom where she thought he'd be marking his papers as he tried to keep the everyday teaching paper work out of his main office, dedicating that to the more practical matters of running the school, the two teams of X-Men and being Chairman Emeritus of X-Corps International. Staring up at the number counter at the top of the lift, she hummed absently to herself as she watched each number light up in turn, becoming a bright electric red one by one. At least concentrating on the mundane took her mind off worrying about her best friend, out there somewhere in a vast jungle. What the hell was she doing out there? Jean had been seriously pissed off at first that Ororo had not contacted the School after the first day but the anger was only out of concern. Then when Xavier had tried to locate them and failed it had only made her worse. Why on earth hadn't she contacted them? Ever since then she and Charles had been doing shifts in Cerebra in the hopes of locating the pair and it was only a few moments ago that they'd had success or rather the Phoenix had.  
  
The lift door opened softly ending with a resounding *ping*. As she stepped out into the orange lit oak panelled hallway, a familiar, though no longer blue face, walked by.  
  
"Hey Warren."  
  
"Hey Jean." They both offered relaxed greetings without stopping on their respective courses, padding along the plush red wine coloured runner. Jean crossed the hall and knocked quickly on the frosted glass of the classroom door, entering the room without waiting for reply.  
  
"I've found them Charles."  
  
The Professor looked up from the student paper in his hand at the announcement, letting it hover for a moment before laying it back down with the others. "Where?"  
  
Jean walked further into the classroom, her raised heals clicking on the parquet floor tat adorned all their revamped teaching areas. It was quite shadowy in the room as the Professor was only using the green shaded lamp on his desk to work by, the main lights remaining off. She took the student chair that sat haphazardly in front of Xavier's desk and settled into it, crossing her right leg over her left. "I finally tracked their signal to South America---the Brazilian Amazon to be more exact."  
  
"Did you find out why?" He asked coolly as he brought his hands together in front of him, resting his elbows on the desk.  
  
Jean shook her head, her hastily assembled bun almost coming lose, so that it hung in a pony tail instead. "When I finally found their signature they were both sleeping---I didn't want to invade their privacy by poking around whilst they didn't know."  
  
"Indeed." Charles stated simply, although for once he had to admit he wished Jean had bent the rules on his strictly applied moral ethic. He'd taught her too well it seemed. "At least we know where they are and that they are safe---that is something at least."  
  
"It doesn't stop us from being mad at them though." Jean admitted; still feeling aggrieved at Ororo's thoughtlessness. It wasn't like her, wasn't like her at all. "They must realise that we'd be worried about them." She shook her head, at a loss. "After everything that's been happening lately," She smiled, somewhat sardonically; it may have been quiet for a couple of months but that only gave them time to brood over the other events that they hadn't had the time to absorb properly or grieve for when they'd been occurring, "it's odd---we've never been more comfortable with our place in the world as we are now and yet I don't think we've ever been more vulnerable---with all this exposure."  
  
"I understand." Charles said sympathetically.  
  
"We've lost so many of us in such a short space of time," Jean continued, "Leyu Yoshida and Darkstar in Paris; Skin and the others, crucified here at the mansion---almost Jubilee too...on are own backyard for chrissake!" Her sometimes fiery temper flamed as she thought about it, hugging herself and rolling her eyes to the stars to stop the tears that glistened and fought to spill over. "...not to mention Genosha." She shook her head again and brought one hand to her forehead as if she hand a headache, the mere thought of sixteen million mutants perishing in a holocaust, not at the hands of human oppressors as was feared and forewarned by Magneto, but at the hands of a fellow mutant---Charles Xavier's very own twin sister. "After everything that's been going on, you'd think Ororo and Remy would have a bit more consideration that's all..." She wasn't really angry at them, just stressed and hurt.  
  
Though he was understanding of Jean's frustration, Xavier wasn't as un- clued as to why they may not have contacted the Institute. They obviously had their reasons and he didn't think any of them had anything to do with the acrimony under which they left the other night. Whatever it was the Guild had put him up to this time---perhaps he just didn't want anyone at the mansion to know. Of course, Ororo had gone along with it too, never able to deny Remy anything. In a strange way he admired their unconditional attachment to one another.  
  
He stood from his chair with the aid of his cane, heading for the tall filling cabinet in the corner of the room. "Now we have a lock on their position," he started as he pulled out the middle draw and retrieved a manila folder containing some source materials for the papers he was grading, "I will contact them tomorrow." The draw slammed shut with the rattling noise of metal.  
  
"Okay." Jean agreed, though she was hesitant; she'd much preferred to speak to Ororo and Remy herself---figuring there would be less chance of a confrontation that way, with things being the way they were right now. As Charles came back down to the desk, laying the pale brown folder next to the stack of white sheets, Jean stood to leave. "Good night Charles---tell me when you're going to use Cerebra tomorrow won't you? I'd like to be there when you do."  
  
"Of course." He smiled up at his fellow telepath and then looked back down as he opened up the file and pulled out its contents. "Good night." Without further word Jean left the classroom.  
  
* * *  
  
The Amazon...  
  
Remy's eyes opened slowly, with caution against the clear morning light. High above them the entire forest exhaled, a giant veil of mist coating its top that had turned sepia and gold in the glow. He breathed in deeply, focusing on the roof of the tarpaulin that had become almost transparent with the brilliance that was so strong it reached down this far into the forest...but only in the mornings. The delicious aroma came to him again--- the clarity of rain, so uncomplicated, so true to itself...There was a weight pressed against him, constant and warm as he moved slightly. He felt it against his legs, a rounded curve nestling in the pit of his torso as it bent to form a concave, letting it sit perfectly. His strong, lithe arms contained most of the warmth, resting against his bare chest. The haze between this world and that of dreams hung over him, muting all of these physical sensations into speculation. Was this a memory of a distant, long forgotten lover in his arms, safe in the protective proximity of his body, or was this another time and place, the rainforest nothing more than an imaginative construction?  
  
Slowly Remy let his head fall to the side, a thick bang of auburn falling heavily across his forehead. His lips brushed against a 'pelt' of downy pure white. It sparkled close to him; a diamond under close inspection, ready to be stolen. He closed his eyes again and lazily moved his head, just slightly from side to side, down into the still relatively thick hair, burying his face in it and its soft, mild scent of sandalwood that flowed over the one of rain.  
  
It must have happened at sometime during the night, he thought to himself in the first concrete consideration to come into his mind since waking. At some point she must have come into his arms, snuggling safe, or maybe he'd pulled her into his embrace. They lay like spoons now, nestled into each others body, melding forms, curving in their middles. He stilled his head, practically ceased to breath, his hands resting over her ribcage, aware of the small groves and dips. Moving his head back from her slowly, he let his left hand come back with the motion too; skirting over her torso and coming up to her arm. Letting his fingers fold over the supple limb in a light clasp, he ran it all the way up its length, tracking its progress as it caressed every inch of coca skin. Withdrawing his other arm from beneath her body, carefully as not to disturb her, he leant up onto it as his other hand reached the gentle curve of her exposed shoulder. He peered down at it and then shifted his gaze over its arc where he could see just the side of her face, her soft expanse of cheek from this angle; the delicate fine detail of the bone beneath the perfect skin and the similar way her jaw bone pressed in defined precision beneath it, leading down to an impossibly elegant neck. Absently his thumb rubbed over her shoulder; the action taking his attention back to it in the foreground of her landscape.  
  
Just once, Remy thought to himself, lost amongst the morning song of the birds. Just once he wanted to put his lips to that skin on her shoulder with its warm tones of amber above the duskiness like a light peppering. He continued to run his thumb over it, back and forth slowly, savouring the feel. There was no guilt in his desire to do this he realised, moreover a sense of longing. This wasn't some long buried hankering, this was a new delight---one whose presence shocked him but somewhere in his mind was no surprise at all. It felt as natural as the winds...  
  
Ororo peeled her eyes open as twittering filled her ears and the air that was fresh from the night of rain coated her. She became aware, or perhaps she always had been, but the touch, the texture felt so right that she did not question it, of a hot gust on her left shoulder. She held herself still, waiting for the warm, moist pressure that was sure to follow. Her lips parted subconsciously as the hold of his hand became more pronounced; agile fingers dimpling the skin, touching down to the collar bone and then, finally, the contact---smooth lips. Did he know she was awake?  
  
"Bonjour mon chèrie." Yes. The thick husky drawl washed over her like warm honey.  
  
"Good morning." Ororo replied in a near whisper as his hold on her shoulder turned her halfway to facing him. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes instantly; her body leaning into his even more so than before. His face was shaded by his hanging hair, though still clearly discernable as hers was to him---an open book. When he looked into her eyes he did not see the clouds that she saw---to him they were as flawless and vibrant as the Caribbean. She suddenly felt compelled to touch him, cup that strong, square jaw line with a smooth palm. And that she did. The rough feel familiar yet fresh.  
  
"Remy..." Her eyes held the question not the delicate tone.  
  
Remy started to move his hand down to her hip; hesitating slightly, but only for a split second as he then let it trail down her side purposefully until it settled just above the protruding hip bone, exposed by the low sling of her combats.  
  
"I t'ink Remy's as confused as yo' are 'Roro." He said, his voice like an undertone, "Needuh o' us know what's 'appenin' 'ere, it's jus'..."  
  
Ororo felt her heart pumping a mile a minute, positive that he must have been able to hear it too; it deafened her so much. She let her hand stroke at his face, unsure of what to say next. Was this what either of them truly wanted or had loneliness and a mutual sense of dependence clouded their minds of late? She blinked in the vain hope that when she opened her eyes again everything would have dispersed like desert sands in the wind. But Remy was still there, his hand heavy on her hip...at home there. His dark eyes, with their flash of fiery scarlet held hers unnervingly---that thief's confidence and aptitude for the bluff never failing him. But Ororo knew, she could see straight through it...She finally took the breath to speak; the tang of sap on her tongue again, coating her throat, "Remy, I--- ."  
  
A high pitched whistling burst through the sounds of the forest with a forceful distinction, causing both parties to jerk their heads in the direction of the opening at their feet. Quickly they broke apart as the sound became louder, hurtling towards them. Louder and louder until it came to a sudden and abrupt stop with a splintering noise exploding from behind them. They both whipped their heads around, startled eyes fixing on a thin length of sharpened reed with a parrot tail of bright red and green spurting from its back end.  
  
"Blow d'art." Remy said quickly as he scrambled to his feet, reaching down and pulling Ororo up by the arm as he did so; both stood stopped in the low down tent. They exited the it post-haste, their diligence returning in the blink of an eye as they scanned the animate expanse before them.  
  
"Can you see anything?"  
  
"Non," Remy replied shortly, never taking his eyes from his deceiving environment; a living breathing camouflage, "But we need t' get outta de firin' range---an' now." Just as he said it he turned, intending to pull down the suspended tarpaulin, when there was a forced puffing sound from somewhere out there amongst the covering blanket of trees and ground foliage. The whistling came again, with the same impossible speed. The noise at the start warned them of its imminence but not quite soon enough. No sooner had they had that moment of hesitation, looking in the direction of the incoming dart instead of ducking for cover, slowed them down than Remy shunted backwards, almost falling into the tent.  
  
"Remy!" Ororo gasped in horror as their attention fell on the second dart, with the same red and green tail, stuck in straight stiffness to Remy's thigh, embedded deep.  
  
-TBC- 


	10. Chapter10

A/N; Thank-you to all the reviewers and a special thanks goes to Lita of Jupiter for helping me with some Brazilian-Portuguese translation. There are a number of native Amerindian words used in this chapter. The words come from the vocabulary of various Amazonian tribes such as the Xerente, Asurini, Bakairi, Buhagana and the Serente.  
  
# = Telepathic contact.  
  
Brazilian-Portuguese phrases;  
  
A Cidade do Vulcão= The City of the Volcano  
  
Fogo do Mau= Fire of Evil  
  
Chapter.10.  
  
Remy swallowed down deeply, and contrary to every feeling that was running through Ororo's mind and body at this moment, he had a grin on his lips, "It alrigh' petit." He informed her with slight breathlessness; a sense of relief palpable within his voice as he took hold of the dart firmly and yanked it out with some effort. "Urrr--ah!"  
  
"But..." Ororo lips trembled and her copper tinted coca skin turned positively ashen.  
  
"Fuck!---dey always dere when I need dem." He quipped as he reached into the pocket where the presumably poisoned arrow had hit, impacting so deep. As he withdrew his hand, out came the deck of cards they'd been playing with last night; a deep, dark pin-sized whole extending through into at least half of the pack.  
  
Ororo swiftly regained her wits, swallowing the welt of saliva that was full of the taste of panic. "Leave the sheet." She told him sternly as she grabbed her bag from just inside the shelter and then pulled his out too. "We need to get out of here---and now."  
  
"Too righ'." Remy agreed quickly with a sly glance to the side, taking his pack from her and slinging it on. He may have kept his cool veneer but his heart was racing in his chest, but that was a good thing as far as he was concerned---the thrill of action like 'Peruvian Marching Powder' to an addict. Taking only the essentials the pair rounded the tree putting themselves out of the line of fire. They crouched at its foot for a moment, again checking the immediate area about them---but nothing. Then a rustling to their left---brief but distinct and clear.  
  
"Can you see anything?" Ororo whispered, dipping her head and leaning forwards slightly from the balls of her feet, adopting the pose of an eagle scanning for prey. This was the fight with the New York Guild all over again, except this time there was some respect for their opponents and their skills.  
  
"Non." Remy responded equally quietly.  
  
"We have to draw them out." She said matter-of-factly after a period of fruitless searching in complete silence; the intensity as thick as the atmosphere. "There is no way we are going to get away from here whilst we can not see our opponent."  
  
"Oui." He answered, again monosyllabic. Moving forwards slowly he placed his hands on the ground, fingers extended vertically like a runner about to burst from the starting post. "'Ow 'bout yo' try an' conjure up a li'll mist? At best it migh' bring dem closer in---at wors' it'll cover our escape."  
  
"I will try." Ororo stated, realising it was possibly the only option open to them here. They were clearly up against a more-or-less invisible foe that knew the forest so well that they could effectively become apart of it- --only revealing themselves if and when they wanted. Otherwise they would only have to sit and wait---picking the pair off with more darts at their leisure. Storm began to focus her mind, closing her eyes to all around her as her psionic powers came into play. She found it much easier to summon a mild mist than she'd thought; simply pulling it down from the layer it created over the top of the canopy.  
  
Remy was always mesmerised by the sheer beauty of it, even in these circumstances, as the brittle white cloak descended gracefully to the forest floor, coating everything about it with a layer that seemed like a light frosting. He looked over to her at his side; her eyes open now, swirling with a pearl-like exquisiteness.  
  
"Now wha'?"  
  
"We wait." Once the mist was there her job was effectively done and her eyes regained their sapphire quality, the pale swirls receding back to the edges of her orbs. "On my mark---we make our move." All the possibilities on how they could defend themselves ran through her mental list of battle plans and strategy. They were facing indigenous tribe people here, who were only acting out of a need to defend their territories from perceived intruders---that automatically precluded any further possibility of using her powers to fend them off---even minor use. She didn't feel she had the right; they were only protecting what was theirs after all.  
  
The distinct sound of rustling came again, flowing from several directions at once but this time a soft muttering of communication was carried to their ears on the back of it. Ororo held on for a little while longer, waiting the vital seconds before issuing the order to Remy to move. Everything around her became distilled---broken down into its requisite parts. Sound, sight and smell---all carrying their own significance, magnified tenfold in the moments before action.  
  
"Move!" She said low and harsh as she started forwards quickly and with her movement out came several figures from the growth and mist. Dark like burnt umber, daubed with slashes of red and black about naked torsos and exposed arms. Skirts of dry, brittle reeds hung from their waists, the legs and feet beneath bare. As Remy and Ororo raced down the bank from the tree, it became obvious fairly soon that they were surrounded---all paths blocked to them. Confrontation was not desired but appeared to be unavoidable.  
  
"What yo' t'ink we should do chère?" They had their backs to one another, moving in a mutual kind of circle as more bodies emerged from Ororo's false covering---its intent pointless on those who knew this world blind.  
  
"We do what we must to get us out of here," she let a weak breeze clear the mist, although some remained where it was, "but we must try not to harm them...if we can avoid it."  
  
"Yo' de boss 'Roro." Remy quipped as he reached for his unarmed Bo staff, tucked into the long pocket that ran the length of his left thigh. He wasn't at all convinced that they'd be able to exit this situation successfully without drawing at least some blood. With his customary flick and the zing of metal shooting out and clicking into place with a clack, his weapon was primed and ready for use.  
  
Ororo surveyed the shift in the situation as more bodies emerged; the beginnings of short, curt communications bouncing around the forest floor...  
  
"Ömö...Apuitime...tôtô...yolocan..." All of the air and distinct from their corporeal bodies; the words muttered in apprehensive but not quite fearful gasps.  
  
The first move was theirs. A spear came in from the left, narrowly missing Storm by a hairs breadth, exploding into the mossy incline behind them with a pronounced *splut!*. Then one came in from Remy's left, leaving him to deflect it expertly with his Bo; the sharpened point of the light coloured length of wood splintering on contact.  
  
"Casiri ie-áp...apuitime camangári diabo..." On uttering those words a soaring young tribes man made a bee-line for Ororo; his spear raised, his coffee toned face set in a veneer of consummate determination. As he neared she kicked at the spear, knocking it from its intended course but not quite out of the man's hand. She used her momentum to spin around him and deliver a hard blow to the small of his back, knocking him to the ground without too much effort.  
  
All the time Remy had his eye on the other tribe's men, two of whom had held back from the rest coming in, perched on the lower branches of a nearby tree as they loaded their blow pipes. The older one was primed and aimed before the other; drawing in a deep breath before puffing on the end of the hollowed out straight branch held securely in both hands. The feather tailed dart was headed straight for Ororo as she rebalanced herself from deflecting her attacker. It didn't take Gambit more than a microsecond to hurl himself with a certain amount of style into its path, his staff out and ready to fend it off as he had the spear that came his way moments earlier.  
  
But once he had done that he found the battle had come to him; one from the left, one from the right and one directly in front.  
  
"Amore tu ömö!" One of them cried---Remy couldn't tell which. "Diadia uato ie-réa kamangari!"  
  
Only the one at his front was armed with a spear the other two had crudely fashioned blades at their disposal. Riding himself of his cumbersome rucksack, Remy agilely took out the man with the spear first; unlike Ororo, succeeding in riding his attacker of his weapon with a well-placed strike of his foot. His only problem remained now in the two with the blades that were still advancing on him and by the time he had disposed of the spear- bearer, were practically on top of him.  
  
*CLINK---CLASH!* Two strikes avoided with cunning skill and two deft twists of his arsenal---the sparks literally flying as the metals came into fast contact. Letting the staff spin back around with its own motion it cracked at the back of the man's head on Remy's right-hand side, hard enough to have him seeing stars but no lasting damage. That gave Remy a little leeway then to attend to his other foe, letting him step back and create some distance in which to fight. He only had a quick respite in which to glance over and see how Ororo was holding up. But as always, she was doing just fine.  
  
Well, she was doing fine until she was taken by surprise from behind. No sooner had she slipped her pack off to give her better agility than arms with the strength of steel locked around her chest; binding her tightly. She only had a moment to strain against this attacker when a third blade- bearer rushed towards her from the mask of trees, his sword raised. Pushing her back into the chest of her captor, Ororo succeeded in launching her legs from the ground and just as the man with the sword was about to deliver his blow she caught him underneath his chin; his mouth promptly slamming shut with a snapping sound as it filled swiftly with salty blood. As he collapsed to the ground all that was left was for Storm to release herself from the arms of the other man. She did so by suddenly throwing her weight forwards, taking her attacker by surprise as he too rocked forwards with frightening force, leading the pair to literally flip over.  
  
As they landed on the marshy floor with a muted splash in the saturated sponge of a ground, Ororo made sure that she came down on top of him as hard as she could---winding him instantly. But just to make sure as she pulled herself up from his suddenly limp hold she rammed her elbow into his ribs on the right flank of his body, leading him to issue a shocked and strangled cry. Rather unskilled and perhaps a little crude but the streets of Cairo had taught her to fight dirty when needs be.  
  
"I t'ink it time we made a sharp exit girl---an' now!" Remy shouted as he smashed the flat of his palm into the face of the man he was currently holding at arms length. But that didn't quite stop the young man, his black irises fixed clearly and his set mouth stained with a thin trickle of scarlet from his nose, in his determination to get to the intruder. He still had his blade, with its carved arching handle, clasped in his right hand; the blue veins on its back standing out in stark relief with the tension of his grip as Gambit held it tightly at the wrist to stop him moving it.  
  
Remy was forced to make a quick decision on what to do. He didn't want to hurt him anymore than was necessary but he was being left with little choice here. Taking his other hand onto the young man's right arm he gripped it a little way away from where his other hand was. With a deft movement he twisted his hands around in opposite directions from one another. There was a clean noise, not so much a snap as a click, quickly followed by the man's scream of agony; his face crumbling as he fell away from Remy and cradled his broken wrist to him, dropping his blade to the ground.  
  
"Remy!" He spun around, his eyes searching fro her quickly through the green. She was stood about fifty yards away from him, blocking herself from sight at the side of a tree. "Come on---we need do them no more harm. I think there is a route down here that is clear."  
  
"Absolument!" Remy exclaimed darkly as he started over to her, swiftly lifting up his rucksack from the floor as he passed through the sparse scatter of injured men. As he got up to where Ororo was, he spared a quick look behind him. What tribe's men were still left standing, primarily the ones with the blow-pipes, had taken it upon themselves to see to their injured brothers rather than take off after their enemy. "I don' t'ink dey gonna be followin' any time soon chère---so let's shoot it. We migh' be able t' lose dem if we quick enough."  
  
Neither needed to be told twice as they disappeared off down an opening in the undergrowth that sloped down into a dark natural path. They had no idea where they were going or if it was putting them drastically off-course but that was the least of their concerns right now as the mournful cries of those they'd left behind receded into the background; muffled and lost amongst the sounds of the living breathing forest around them.  
  
* * *  
  
Many hours and many miles away...  
  
Remy sat down on the outcrop of a boulder and unhooked his canteen. Taking the top off quickly he practically poured the cool, clear liquid down his throat; his head tipped right back to let it slip down easily. Then, without breaking the constant flow of the refreshing water he moved it from his mouth so that it dowsed over his heat flushed face and then over his hair. They had more than enough to spare as there had been another rainstorm at about three in the afternoon that had lasted for up to two hours. But they hadn't stopped in the face of it, preferring to push on, not sure as to whether the tribe that had attacked them had regrouped and picked up their trail. They may have been on their tail for most of the day for all they knew so it was safer to just keep on moving. But now they had come to a stop---partly trough physical exhaustion but mainly because they were now faced with a rather large spoke in their wheels; a sheer cliff face.  
  
"I could at least try Remy." Ororo said as she craned her neck backwards to gaze up to the summit that could have been almost three hundred feet tall--- maybe more maybe less. Whatever it was, it was certainly a sticking point because according to their map---both of them---it didn't even exist.  
  
"Non," Remy told her in no uncertain terms, "I can see 'ow tried yo' are girl---I don' wan' yo' t' risk it." He hopped down agilely from the rock he'd been perched on, taking another swig from his canteen as he walked over to her side. Swiftly he glanced up at where she was looking, a large patch of golden shaded, raw sienna sky showing through an oval gap at the top of the craggy light grey cliff, and the cusp of the trees behind them, before taking his eyes back down to her. The light cast down onto her upturned face, bathing smooth refined features with an aureole; face and hair glistening with the after-thought of the last rain-shower. He wanted to say something to her so much, but now didn't really seem to be the time...besides, what would he say?  
  
"Using my powers in short blasts is enough for me to manage. I could just--- ."  
  
"No way ho-say, 'Batgirl'." He joked, cutting across her. There was no way he was going to let her try and fight to create a wind current strong enough to elevate them both to the top---it was clear she wasn't up to it right now. Even the small amounts of manipulation she'd used in their fight against the mystery tribe had taken quite a lot out of her. She'd tried to hide it of course but Remy could see it.  
  
"What do you suggest then?" She asked with a slight laugh, looking over at him  
  
Remy was pulled from the daydream state he'd briefly slipped into, turning quickly from her before blue orbs fell upon him. He kept his neck stiff and unmoving as he gazed ahead of him; his eyes concentrating on the textured groves of hard and soft greys with toughs of ragged bush growing from it here and there, alcoves of birds nests dotted about too. Just from the corner he could see her face turned towards him, her gaze resolute and unaffected. He tried to shift his thoughts to the problem they now faced and ignore it. "We coul' climb."  
  
"And if we should fall?"  
  
"Den---an' only den---yo' coul' catch us." He said quickly, finally turning to face her and intently so.  
  
Ororo's breath caught in her throat for a moment, her heart stilled. Never once did she break from his gaze. "Yes---if I needed to...I would always be there to catch us." A moment of stasis passed in the bright auroras from above. "And what about you?"  
  
"I'd be dere too." Remy said firmly, his face a mask of seriousness. His right hand, the one closest to her reached up; the movement quick but not startling. It slowed only when it came close to her, held near to the skin of her cheek. Then he ran his fingers, three together, bent at the calloused knuckle above the cut of his gloves, along it; that defined bone beneath skin like satin, solid and sure. Hearts quickened at the touch, but no words spoken. None were needed...  
  
First Ororo's eyes fell from Remy and then she stepped away, her arms wrapping about herself in a self-affirming hug. Protective. She meandered down the short dip towards the cliff face; stood before them like an unmoveable Goliath. This was too much to contemplate right now---there were things that she was beginning to feel that she couldn't admit to herself never mind Remy. Though he seemed to be suffering from the same dilemma--- that only served to make things complicated still for it meant that they couldn't ignore it, even if they'd wanted to. She was used to chaos in her life, she could deal with that, the relative simplicity of fighting for what was good and true, being an X-Man made that a certain. One could barely go through a day without it. But the other thing she suffered from--- they all suffered from---was a certain amount of emotional detachment. Get any of us on a Freudian's couch, she thought wryly, and they would have a field day. Remy was one of the few safe places for her---emotionally---but now that was all changing and she didn't know how to stop it.  
  
"I know dis ain't de bes' time or place bu'...we can't go on avoidin' dis fo'evah 'Roro."  
  
Storm turned back to face him. She didn't want to but his admission held such a tender defeat that she couldn't bare not to. "Not now Remy, please..."  
  
# Storm! # The sound of the voice shook her, literally, making her stumble back with its amplified intrusion, her back against the cliff; the cultured tone rattling around her skull.  
  
"Professor." Ororo replied calmly, out loud for Remy's benefit. "You found us then."  
  
#Not without some difficulty, my dear.# He told her with held back irritation. #It was Jean who found you---last night. But you were sleeping.# By now Charles had extended his communication to Remy also; the Cajun clearing a way for him through his psychic defences that still remained formidably strong despite the absence of his powers. Hank had been interested in studying this particular phenomenon, as it had always been assumed that the inability of telepaths to penetrate his mind was directly linked to his bio-kinetic signature. But Remy had told him, in no uncertain terms, where he could stick his probes and test tubes. Rather unsurprisingly, Hank hadn't pushed the matter further than that.  
  
#I am sorry that we failed to contact you Charles---but we had other things to contend with.# Ororo said apologetically, coming back up close to where Remy was stood; nonchalantly drinking from his canteen again, suddenly acting like he didn't have a care in the world.  
  
# I appreciate that, but surely a simple telephone call could not have been beyond you.# He said, trying not to sound too stern. # The mini X-jet does have e-mail facilities, you know? #  
  
Ororo heard Remy sigh; just seeing the shake of his head from the corner of her eye. But she didn't turn to look at him as the atmosphere just ahead of them became distorted, like holographic fuzz. After a few seconds and image of the top half of the Professor's body appeared to them; a psychic projection from thousands of miles away. "We would have contacted you," she said to the image as if he were stood right before her in the physical person, "But it is fair to say we have had are reasons for not doing so."  
  
"No doubt connected in someway to what Remy's father has asked of you?"  
  
"Non," Remy finally spoke up, coming forwards so that he was stood face to face with Xavier's facsimile. "It wuzn't mah Poppa---well non directly---it wuz de uddah Guild's, mon ami."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Don' worry homme---I'll 'ave 'Roro back safe an' soun' befo'e de week's out."  
  
"There is no need for this to become confrontational Remy," Xavier warned, not happy with Gambit's tone. "We were simply concerned about your whereabouts. Jean and I became worried when our repeated searches failed to locate you."  
  
"And we are sorry for that Charles," Ororo said, "But you know we are safe now---though I can not tell you how much longer we shall be away from the school. The task has turned out to be more involving than we had hoped."  
  
"What task?" That wasn't the Professor's voice---it was distinctly feminine. The air at the side of Xavier's image began to blur and distort as a projection of a pretty redhead came into being.  
  
"Hello Jean."  
  
"Hey Ororo---what task?" She repeated.  
  
"We've been charged to retrieve something for the Guild." Ororo replied; completely non-committal, unrevealing. She didn't want to give Charles or Remy any ammunition to pick-up where they'd left off in his office.  
  
"Is that all you're going to give us?" Jean asked lightly, "Come on 'Ro--- since when couldn't you tell us anything? I'm your best friend, if you two are in any trouble, you know we'd be there in a heartbeat."  
  
Ororo opened her mouth to reply, but Remy cut across her. "We be fine Jean," He told her earnestly, any left over antagonism gone now. He turned briefly to Ororo, "We may as well tell 'em," facing back to the projections of his X-colleagues, he said, "Some o' de Guild's found a map---an ol' map-- -showin' de location o' a relic they been wantin' t' git dheir hands on since fo'evah. I jus' 'appen t' be de t'ief dey wan'ed fo' de job."  
  
"They wanted you?" Charles asked sceptically. To which Remy simply made a face and shrugged his shoulders to show that he too found it highly suspect but, he was asked to do it, so he was doing it. Just this one last time... "So, what is this relic?"  
  
"It's called de Carcoccia---don' know much 'bout it. Jus' myths I 'eard growin' up." He admitted. "Dere 'ave been tails o' it in all de Guild's---a powerful object, but no-one seems t' know what exactly dis---power---is. An' f dey do, dey ain't been obligin' enough t' let Remy know." He gave a dry laugh, "Fo' all we know we be out 'ere in de middle of nowhere, chasin' a goddamn ghost."  
  
"Not to mention being chased ourselves." Ororo added caustically.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"Nuhddin' chère," Remy grinned, "Jus' a bit o' a run-in wit' some o' de locals."  
  
"Locals?" Jean raised an eyebrow as she folded her arms across her chest.  
  
"It does not matter Jean," Ororo assured her, "Honestly---it was nothing of importance."  
  
"As long as you are both okay?" The Professor inquired, looking at them both in turn. "Should you need any help---if you find yourself in dire- straits, do not hesitate to contact us. Your general co-ordinates have been programmed into Cerebra---she will be capable of picking up the psychic residue of any distress signals you put out into the atmosphere, should either of us," He gestured towards Jean, "fail to pick them up."  
  
"Thank-you Charles." Ororo said kindly, "We appreciate it...we really do."  
  
Charles nodded, giving one of his rare smiles, "Well, be careful...my X- Men." As the last words faded from the atmosphere so did the Professor's image; shimmering and then breaking apart into a mist-like vapour that transcended into the air.  
  
"Good luck---the both of you." Jean offered before her likeness too vanished into the sultry atmosphere. But her communication was not gone as Ororo felt her voice resonate around her head. #What's going on 'Ro?#  
  
Before she answered Storm glanced at Remy, ascertaining quickly that this communication was for her mind only. #What do you mean?#  
  
Jean's laugh rattled and rolled around Ororo's skull like a marble set loose in a ceramic pot. #Don't give me that---I am psychic you know and it doesn't take a strong one to pick up on the amount of tension I'm gettin' from down there.#  
  
#Jean, I have no idea---#  
  
#'Ro, it's as thick as one of your fogs. Pea Soup! # Jean insisted, #I even picked up on it last night, while you were sleeping. God, I could almost taste it!#  
  
Ororo shook her head and tried to brush it off, #Whatever you were sticking your nose into last night, my friend, was none of your concern. Besides, I still do not know what you are talking about.# The warning was friendly enough.  
  
#Now 'Ro, sweetie, you know you're a terrible liar and I don't need to be telepathic to pick that up either---it's kind of a best friend thing.# If Jean hadn't been sure last night or during their initial contact, then she was now. She'd definitely picked up on something potent, but she couldn't put her finger on it. A waft, like perfume that lingers in a room once the wearer has gone, had crowded around the pair when she had finally located them and found them sleeping. It was like an aura almost, something that on occasion her Phoenix Force that nestled deep within her being let her witness. Every now and then she could see, smell and even taste the residue of people's emotions, if they were being emitted into the atmosphere strongly enough. That's what she saw last night; a tension that she'd never experienced between Gambit and Storm, coating the pair like a cocoon as they lay together, against each other in the suffocating dark of the forest night. But as her mind had skirted around it for a while, testing it almost like one would feel a loaf of bread for freshness, she realised it wasn't a negative aura at all as she'd first suspected. It was one...poignant. That was all she could think of to describe it. Poignant. #What's going on with you two?#  
  
Ororo pursed her lips and tried to clear her mind of any stray thoughts that might betray her. But just as she felt her grip on them loosening, threatening to let them free for Jean to read at her leisure, Remy inadvertently came to her rescue.  
  
"'Ro!" She span round to see him down by the cliff face, peering into something that was currently blocked from her view. "Come look at dis." He beckoned her with a wave of his hand without ever turning to face her.  
  
#Sorry Jean---got to go.#  
  
#But---#  
  
#Goodbye!# She closed her mind to any psychic thought, effectively shutting Jean out, relieved that the conversation had ended. "What is it?" She asked as she made her way down to Remy, blocking out all else but the here and now.  
  
He was crouched now, hand gripped to an outward shard of rock as he peered intently into something. Ororo crouched down at his side, placing a hand on his shoulder as she lowered down. There was a crevice in the cliff, almost of a diamond shape in appearance. She dipped down to look into it, holding tight to him to steady herself so that she didn't pitch forwards on the uneven ground. The hole was only dark close up. After the initial opening it seemed to widen out into a cave like space, but it wasn't entirely dark as it had at first seemed; radiance apparent from somewhere.  
  
"Dere's an openin' at de uddah end," Remy moved forwards, practically sticking his head into the apparently natural slit in the solid rock, "Look, yo' can see a ligh' comin' from down dere." He pulled back, letting his hand trail down the wet, coarse surface beneath his palm. "Mebbe it's a way t'rough?"  
  
"Perhaps." Ororo replied thoughtfully as she rocked back and stood up straight. "But the opening---it is not wide enough for us to fit through."  
  
Remy stood up straight too, giving her a lopsided grin. "No' a problem mon chère." He told her with his familiar cocky swagger as he flipped open the button on one of the pouches on his belt. On taking out his hand he displayed a solid looking silver nugget and gave her a knowing look. Turning back to the cliff face, he said quickly, "Stand back 'Roro---dis is gon' be messy."  
  
Ororo immediately did as he bid; watching as he pressed something on top of the small cylindrical object before setting it into the top of the crack in the grey. As soon as it was set in place Remy bolted up the short incline to join her behind the large boulder that he'd previously been sitting on--- diving the last measure as he heard the final click of the mechanism before a torrent of splintered rock burst forth with a rumbling bang. Arms wrapped over heads as a veritable shower of rock and vegetation rained down on them courtesy of Gambit's little device. Once the flow had stopped, they ventured to look back down at the cliff face. But they couldn't see much yet; the debris still clouding around it.  
  
"Lacks a certain subtlety---but it got the job done." Ororo mimicked, much to Remy's amusement as he collapsed back against the smooth surface of the rock they'd used as shelter, laughing breathlessly.  
  
They roused themselves to move after the last of the stray dust had settled in the dusky air, feeling the fine layer like brick residue coming to a rest on their bodies. It had worked. The opening was now twice the size as it had been previously, more than big enough to accommodate them and their gear. Ororo had swiftly gauged that the space was fairly wide; none of her old fears surfacing---the fact that an end was in sight helping to calm her nerves greatly.  
  
"C'mon." Remy said with an excited enthusiasm as he quickly rounded the boulder, making Ororo smile quietly to herself. Such verve she hadn't witnessed in him for a long while. He may have had qualms about this quest but his passion for the chase, the discovery and seizure of a much prized object still got his blood flowing. It was something she hadn't seen in him in such a time that it was a joy to follow him as he entered the widened opening, eager to discover the mystery of its end point.  
  
* * *  
  
The library of the Xavier Institute, an hour or so later...  
  
Jean came into the library and closed the large double doors behind her. It was particularly subdued in the windowless room, more so than usual after the noisy chaos out in the corridors; the end of the school day heralding the influx of countless tittering bodies into the mansion hallways. The redhead walked to the far end of Xavier's extensive archive, lit only by study lamps on the various desks, going past row after row of freestanding book cases, loaded with original editions of books on every subject one could imagine. It was an impressive collection and one that had been in the possession of the Xavier family for well over a hundred and fifty years. The yellowish glow from the screen of a slide archive machine, a row of which ran along the wall at the back of the room, drew Jean to it. They were loaded with all sorts of documents from the most well known news events to the most bazaar and obscure happenings. It had served them well in the past to have information, no matter how unsubstantiated or circumstantial on any and all myths of the world. They of all people knew fact could be stranger than any fiction.  
  
Only one was of the archives was in operation currently, a blue figure slumped in his chair before it; an exhausted three digit hand clung to the back of his stiff neck.  
  
"Find anything?" Jean asked as she set the ice cold bottle of Carlsberg down next to the pile of open books at the side of the slide viewing screen.  
  
"Danke Jean." Kurt said wearily as he to his hand from hanging on his neck and picked up the cold, wet green bottle. Taking a lengthy swig, he took the frost clouded bottle away from his mouth with a suction popping noise and gave a satisfied sigh. "Ahh...nothing beats a good European beer." He smiled as he set the bottle down and swivelled to and fro in his chair as he looked at the page in front of him. "Ja, there have been some things--- but nothing...concrete. Just the usual cock-and-bull mythology---you know the sort."  
  
Jean made a bemused sound as she squatted down at Kurt's side, placing her forearm on the arm rest of his office-style chair. "But what stories have you found Kurt? Anything may be useful---I am sure it's no more crazy than the usual crap we have to deal with." She looked up at the amiable German with a knowing smile, "Don't forget---you're talking to a woman with an inter-dimensional life force living inside her capable of giving life to or destroying entire solar systems for the hell of it."  
  
"And I am the son of a heartless assassin and Beelzebub himself," He deadpanned and then took up his bottle again and raised it in mock toast, "Kudos to us!" They both laughed, though it was very half-hearted and short.  
  
"Anyway, what have you got? It doesn't matter how superstitious it seems."  
  
"Well there have been various mentions of this---Carcoccia---in accounts coming out of central South America more-or-less from the time of the Conquistadors and the Portuguese settlers." Kurt informed her as he flicked through a few slides, tapping a large indigo finger on the red button on the keyboard panel on the desk before him. Eventually, he came to the document he wanted. "It has been known by many names," He pointed at a section of the sepia coloured document up on the screen that listed them, "The 'Bala-Khalu', 'Xaanio', 'Yolocan-Uato' and the Portuguese called it 'Fogo do Mau' on hearing the rumours of its existence ---but not much else was mentioned in these archives. So," Kurt turned his chair and pulled out a thick leather bound book from the bottom of the pile of others. He lifted up the front of the binding so Jean could see its title adorned across the dull brown leather in embossed gold; 'The Legends, Rituals and Myths of South Amerindian Peoples'. "It's an old book---1925, so I thought I'd give it a shot and it came up trumps. None of the later books seemed to mention it." He pointed briefly in the direction of the discarded pile.  
  
Kurt pushed the other books aside to lay this heftier one flat on the table as Jean stood up from her crouching position to get a proper look. Holding back her hair so it didn't fall into her vision, she leant over it, quickly scanning the yellowed page that Kurt had given emphasis to. "The Legend of the Carcoccia and the Lost City of Naroapa Impokiro." Jean read aloud before blindly reaching behind her and pulling the chair that was sat in front of the next machine towards her and sat down. She skipped a few lines and then began to read out loud once more. "...rumours of a cities existence, high above the Amazonian basin first surfaced from the forest with a band of Conquistadors in 1524. They were following the path of the Spanish navigator Vicente Yánez Pinzón as they travelled through the Portuguese territory heading for the Spanish territory of Bolivia but went dangerously off course. When they emerged months later not only did they claim to have discovered an ancient city but also carried tales of a powerful object---one that they called, the Carcoccia. It was made note of as it was reported that only five of the original three-hundred strong party came back from the forest alive..." Again she ran quickly through much of the passage, mouthing the words silently to herself. "...little detail of their account survives and latter attempts to find what the Portuguese called 'A Cidade do Vulcão' in 1834 by Lord Worcester and then by the Professor of Archaeology, José Maria Figo of the University of Rio de Janeiro, in 1903, proved fruitless. The city of Naroapa Impokiro---'Good Star' in the native tongue of the elusive Yaitata'í Indians---and its legend of an object of mythically divine force were all but forgotten by the world of archaeology, now of interest to those only who deal in the field of indigenous ritual and mythology..." Jean leant back in her chair, her face thoughtful, green eyes holding a preoccupied air.  
  
"The only other thing I found that was really of any use was this." Kurt wheeled himself closer to the desk and began to click furiously on the red button once more, the illuminated pages flicking past faster than the eye could see until he slowed down when he neared the one he was after. "This one---in an academic journal written for the Archaeology Society of México City in 1947---apparently a Spanish-written map surfaced, in Gómez Palacio in north Mexico, supposedly showing the location of the city, but no mention of the Carcoccia." Kurt looked as lost in thought as Jean had been for a moment as he picked up his beer bottle and took a sip. "I found it of particular interest because it jogged my memory of a conversation I once had with Remy---about the history of the Guilds." He paused again, gazing at the subtly flickering screen that cast a harsh sallow light on his dark, soft fur. "He was telling me of the various chapters that resided in major cities all over the world and I know, or at least I think I do, that he mentioned a chapter somewhere in Mexico---but that it was only one through- out the entire country."  
  
"You think it could have been in Gómez Palacio?" Jean asked, looking at the screen also, before turning back to Kurt.  
  
"Maybe." He replied softly and then took another sip before placing the bottle back on the desk with a light bang. "I can't remember---it was a long time ago. A couple of years after he joined us. It seems...a lifetime."  
  
"Yes." Jean nodded in quiet agreement. She leant forwards suddenly, pulling the large leather book into her lap. "Doesn't really tell us all that much about this---thing--- whatever it's supposed to be, does it?"  
  
"Nein."  
  
"I only wanted to find out because Ororo and Remy didn't tell us all that much," She took a deep, weary breath as she put the book back onto the desk top, "To be honest I don't think they knew enough to tell us anything even if they'd wanted to."  
  
"You are worried?"  
  
"Just that they don't know what they're letting themselves in for." She admitted. "They've gone into this practically blind---I just thought if we could give them a bit of info on this thing then it might help. I mean, we don't know how powerful it is or what it can do---we might have another Cyttorak crystal on our hands here."  
  
"That's the last thing we need---a dangerous organisation with that kind of power within its grasp. Just look at Cain---although he does appear to be a genuinely reformed character these days." Kurt shook his head, thinking back to the subject, "Ack! The consequences could be disastrous---what is Storm playing at? Surely she wouldn't let them get their hands on such a thing, if indeed it even exists."  
  
Jean sighed and held her hands out in defeat, "I don't know Kurt."  
  
"Apart from all this, how did they seem to you? I heard Angel and some of the other students at the back of my history class muttering about how they'd heard them arguing with the Professor just before they left." He asked, "I'm not one to listen to idle mansion tittle-tattle, but I know they have both had...difficulties settling back into life at the mansion after so long away."  
  
The memory of what she'd witnessed danced across Jean's mind but she held her tongue. Though she didn't stop the vague smile that crossed her lips in time for Kurt not to notice.  
  
"What?"  
  
Jean waved a dismissive hand, "They were fine---trust me." She got up from the swivel chair and went around to the back of it. "Thanks for doing this for me Kurt. I would have done it myself, but I had the Arabic class to cover."  
  
"Oh ja!" Kurt laughed, giving her a sympathetic smile; white teeth gleaming against the dark, "I heard you were taking that class whilst Storm was--- indisposed. How is it?" He asked with playful innocence to which Jean rolled her jade eyes.  
  
"It's a damn nightmare if you want to know the truth." She said, exasperated. "I've absorbed as much as I can, a lot of it telepathically from a student from Gaza."  
  
"The girl with control over water currents?"  
  
"Um-hum." Jean nodded, "But its still a struggle---the girl was reluctant to let me in. It wasn't her fault, it was just like trying to pry open a safe door with a tooth pick. I just hope she comes back soon---if only to relive me!" She laughed as she put her chair back where she'd taken it from. "Anyway, thanks again Kurt. I'll catch you later."  
  
"Ja---see you later Jean." He watched her as she left, until she disappeared behind one of the tall cases, whereon he turned back to the desk. "Ahh Remy," He said to himself, "What have you got yourself involved with this time?" He rolled up the long sleeves of his red cotton t-shirt, closed the great leather book and gathered it up with the others, holding the heavy load close to his chest. In a dazzling series of flare-like bursts of magenta and white light accompanied by the pungent stench of sulphur he whizzed around the various spots in the library, replacing the books from where he'd found them.  
  
* * *  
  
A dark, dank tunnel in the Amazon...  
  
"I swear by the Bright Lady---this is the last time I go on one of your 'extra circular' jaunts Remy LeBeau." The tunnel was a lot longer than either of them had thought, taking a lot longer to get through than at first thought. Plus it had narrowed somewhat towards the middle, necessitating that they get on their hands and knees.  
  
Remy laughed as he crawled close behind her, moving as fast as he could through a welt of slime. "Hey, it was yaw choice chère!" He looked disgustedly at his hand; raising it in front of him when they came to a stop briefly at an awkward outcrop of rock that needed to be transcended. With a quick flick, the dark covering of viscous matter flew from his hand, splattering over the craggy wall at his side that was covered with the stuff already, as were they. "Whose idea was dis again?"  
  
"Yours." She said, unimpressed. Taking hold of the small raised shelf in front of them, Ororo pulled herself up onto it. Remy came up behind her, the tunnel being a little bit higher at this point enabling him to stand up straight and aid her onto the ridge by pushing against the soles of her feet. Once she was safely onto the higher level, he stretched up and took hold of the wet rough edge of the ridge and then with all the strength of his upper body powered into his biceps, swung his lower body upwards, heaving it up onto the shelf in one slick movement.  
  
"What yo' see 'Ro?" He asked as he wiped the dark sludge from his hands. Ororo was a little way further down the suddenly large tunnel, whose opening was now clear, but arched upwards, revealing only the bright evening sky from where he stood. Her form silhouetted against the it.  
  
"Goddess..." Ororo whispered in awe as she crept closer to the edge of the opening, looking out onto something of obvious amazement.  
  
Remy went towards her, the heat and light flooding the tunnel, making its walls gleam. "What is it girl?" He asked again, rather impatiently, when he received no answer. But he was soon dumb struck himself as he came up to Storm's side and witnessed the sight that rolled out before her.  
  
"Mon Dieu..."  
  
-TBC- 


	11. Chapter11

Salutations and appreciations go to Tedabug, Yellowdragon Fly, Aimee Belle, Yawning, Turtle Dove, ddrinki4 and Lita of Jupiter.  
  
+= Translated from Yaitata'í Indian ( a language and tribe that doesn't actually exist---simply an amalgamation of different genuine tribal words and artistic licence on my part for the purposes of this story.)  
  
Chapter.11.  
  
Naroapa Impokiro, 'A Cidade do Vulcão', deep in the Amazon...  
  
"I guess dis is de place, hien?" Remy retorted off-handily, in belie of his amazement at one of the most intricate man-made structures he had ever seen. Neither had laid their eyes upon anything quite like it; here or in the furthest reaches of the known universe that they had travelled on more than one occasion. Not even the mighty Shi'ar Empire had managed such a feat, they were sure.  
  
"I have never seen anything like it." She fairly gasped as she stepped closer to the edge of the high up opening that turned out to be set close to the top of the side of what looked like the peek a volcano, holding to the edge with just one hand. Before lay a rounded basin type crater, lined with trees due to thousands of years of inactivity and in the centre of this was a city---perfectly preserved.  
  
"Careful 'Roro." Remy warned as he watched Ororo step that bit closer to the edge, unconsciously the tips of her boots overlapping the sheer edge, drawn to the stunning spectacle by an invisible thread.  
  
It was truly awe inspiring...more than breathtaking. A central alter--- palace of some sort---formed the focal point. It's tendril like walls towering with natures grace, the forests grace, on a high plinth above the rest of the city that wound around it in a spiral formation, weaving down like a brilliant stone maze to create a conical effect. But it was the intricacy of the architecture that was most astounding; the sun-bleached white stone carved not into the practical yet beautiful oblong blocks of most ancient cities of the Americas but into the most bewildering circular forms. The buildings of the city were linked to one another, almost like a never ending weaved knot, caressing and holding to each other in a timeless dance. A natural structure born of man's hand. An oxymoron yes, but true all the same. Both yearned for a closer look, their desire caught on the tips of their tongues. The sound would come. A spent rapture.  
  
*  
  
At the city gates...  
  
Two great stone centurions stood guard; soundless, their white eyes unseeing, limbs unmoved, spears held straight up to the heavens. Some spare guyropes and a little skilful improvisation with the sturdier trees had gotten them down here safe enough and now they were before the gateway to this wondrous place, beneath its blue shadow. The towering wooden doors stood slightly ajar with their reticent watchers; abandoned and left to their fate.  
  
"Are we going to just stand here or are we going in?"  
  
"Ladies firs'." Remy bowed graciously with an ostentatious flurry of the hand towards the gigantic doors.  
  
Storm rolled her eyes, "Why thank-you kind sir." She replied with exaggerated politeness and a despairing shake of the head as she made for the door, with Remy not that far behind.  
  
"Don' try an' deny it," Remy jested as they passed through the slight opening, "yo' femmes still can' get enough o' chivalry in a guy---no madduh 'ow much yo' protest."  
  
All jesting and tomfoolery stopped as soon as they passed through the gates and into the lost city. The sight that greeted them was at once stunning but at the same time horrifying. Amongst the expertly carved buildings that towered around them like the most wonderful pieces of sculpture was a scene that could have come from Pompeii itself.  
  
"Goddess!" Ororo whispered in exclamation at what she saw. Figures. Corpses. Everywhere---the population of a teaming metropolis in a death- mask state of stasis. All about them, as if caught by the quick snap of a camera shutter, an instant in time captured for all eternity. They stood, in their life like sate but distilled in a cocoon of grey ash. The pair walked further in, their mouths practically agape at the unexpected spectacle; the streets of polished cobbled stone uneven beneath their feet.  
  
"What de fuck..." Remy said slowly in his disbelief as he ventured forwards, coming close to the body of a young man, stilled in a half- running pose, as if he were fleeing towards the gates.  
  
"I can not believe this...it looks like..." She didn't finish the sentence as she advanced upon the 'statue' of a woman, her hands flung in the air, an expression of utter terror upon her face. Ororo stepped closer, almost daring not to breathe lest she blow the figure away. "What happened to them?" She asked, mainly to herself, the question made in an act of rhetorical disbelief.  
  
Non-the-less Remy answered, "I don' know chère---it look like dey were--- burned?" He shook his head, perplexed, "I don' know..." He repeated as he moved on to another figure; a man who was dressed in some kind of uniform. The contours and outlines of plated armour and the delicate folds of material were still discernable, though all was monotone with deep black shadows cast by the sun.  
  
"But how could they have been left in such...perfection." Almost like she was unable to stop herself, Ororo reached up to the woman's face, upon which was the hanging globule of a tear shape, running down her rounded cheek. Her fingers hovered close to it, just a millimetre away; the vague shake in them obvious the closer she moved them. "Such preservation--- surely it is not possible in such a climate..." Smooth digits went closer and eyes watered with fixed amazement, "It is not possible..." As soon as they came into contact, just the slightest touch, the figure began to disintegrate. Storm quickly pulled her hand away but it was two late; the defined bulk of ash flittered away into the ether. Simultaneously collapsing to the ground and dispersing into the air until there was nothing left. No trace that the person had ever been. She watched; the soft grey scattering to nothing in the golden light. Parrots cried over head; a lively squawk in defiance of the death.  
  
They moved on through narrow streets that sloped gently upwards, speechless for a time as they bore witness to a time and a place that had been cast like stone yet with all the fragility of a dry sand castle. City streets were full of the vibrancy of life, stalls set out on the roads selling fruit, meat, fish, clothes. The people walked, the people ran. Some seemed calm, others were not. Dogs barked as soldiers overran the streets. It was clear that the city was in a state of siege---the corpses of hundreds of what appeared to be Conquistadors, terrorising the citizens. Or perhaps something else instilled the look of utter horror on certain faces.  
  
"Looks like dey were invaded." Remy said as he came up to a cluster of those soldiers; headed up the road whilst all around them were heading down.  
  
"I do not have a good feeling about this Remy." Tantie's warnings were suddenly fresh on her mind. A mind that was now clear of the pressures of the forest, this oasis of captured life somehow existing outside of everything that made life elsewhere tick. She could once more feel the omnipotence over her powers; the dulcet prick of an electrical current, the heavy roll of thunder, the coursing drive of the rain, running through her as hot blood. Her life force. It was given back almost like this place existed out of time and space. But these matters were of little concern to her at this moment. "Whatever happened to those unfortunate souls, surely it must---."  
  
"Don' say it chère," Remy held a hand up in her direction to halt her, his eyes diverted as if entranced by the group of running soldiers. Where were they running to? "I know what dis means---yo' don' 'ave t' spell it out." He concluded grimly as he walked towards the ashen figures as they turned a bend in the steep street; their eagerness still palpable. Boots tapped the cobbled floor with an ominous echo as the Cajun turned with them; the palace...temple causing the shadow that had rendered their colouring an onyx soot. The surrealism of De Chirico.  
  
Remy LeBeau stood in its shadow now---the first outsider for near half a millennia to be in its presence. Ororo was not far behind. The temple of tendrils stood in an open square with the sculpted bodies of nymphs-like creatures and noble warrior men, rising to a converging peak at which the head of woman sat with the stern look of a matron; the flat curving lines like the virgin statue that sat on Tantie's table, the one she adored so. But this woman, this female idol had a presence that was all her own. A matriarch that demanded respect, demanded worship. Ororo was open to it--- recognising her as one of her ilk, a kindred spirit of those she worshipped and became on the flat arid plains of Kenya.  
  
The steps of the temple rose before them, a challenge to be overcome, a pilgrimage to be walked.  
  
"It must be in there."  
  
"Yah..." Remy said, his voice sounding raspy as the torridness became more pressing; sweat running like rain.  
  
Ororo glanced over to him at her left, the apprehension mutual. "Remy, this does not feel..."  
  
"...right." He finished her sentence for her. "We've come dis far---it'd seem...churlish not t' go de whole way."  
  
"Churlish?" Ororo laughed sardonically to which Remy cocked his head and shrugged. "Never-the-less, it seems are quest is over---nearly."  
  
"Hmph...nearly's de word petit."  
  
Ororo looked at him, his tone confusing her. He appeared to be captivated by something else, that look on his face telling her that something was about to happen. She followed his eye-line, then, and only then did she understand it. Up there, on the medieval style battlements that ran along all of the taller buildings that penned them in stood warriors---live tribes men. All with bow and arrows, primed and aimed, ready and waiting; dark harbingers in their shadow likeness against the fading light. Instantly they recognised them, the black and red swathes of paint across dark coffee skin of those illuminated on their left-hand side identifying them as the people of their former encounter, their keen attackers. There must have been at least a hundred of them, their lethal cargo trained on the two X-Men; tense hands barely holding back the shots that would cause instant death---a fierceness in their eyes that yearned for retribution.  
  
"So how do we get out of this one hot-shot?"  
  
* * *  
  
Chula Vista, Southern California...  
  
The grapple hook line chinked against the marble balustrade, cutting into its grainy granite with a fierce bite. The only noise in the soundless night. The titanium wire strained suddenly as it dropped over the rounded edge of the balcony; an ornate decoration for the forth floor window of the plush manor house that sat in the splendid desert landscape of the Pacific south-west, just over the boarder from Mexico. A quick gust brushed across the orangey pigmented ground, whipping the sparkling grains of ruby-esque sand up into the balaclava-covered face of the black glad figure that was scaling the side of the mock-Spanish mansion; its pristinely white façade shining in perfection against the midnight blue and red all around. Brittle palms dotted the grounds like miniature black explosions as fireflies sparked; fallen stars.  
  
As the figure reached just below the balcony, they paused for a moment, securing the stiff glinting wire around several clips on the belt around their mid-riff. With a dull snapping sound, like a piece of board being waved back and forth, the wire was tugged twice; its security assured. Placing their feet against the plastered wall of the house, the figure lent back so that they were practically perpendicular, laid underneath the overhang of the small balcony, using it like a cover. Once they resumed their steadiness they reached into a compartment on the military jacket they were sporting, pulling out a gun type object. But it was far too flawlessly cylindrical and resembled more a flare gun than one of lethal intent. With a soft *clack* a short lever, like a hammer, was pulled back and taking the object in both hands, the object was pointed upwards at a target high above the balcony. A short puffing sound went off as the lever was released followed by a quick cracking sound. The small piece of black netting from within the weapon had certainly made short work of the spying eye of the security camera that was just above the floor to ceiling sliding windows. Turning their body with a sharp controlled movement the shot was repeated, temporarily taking out the other camera on the right. It was a race against time now---it would only be so long before the guards realised that two of their screens had been taken out.  
  
Moving quickly the dark figure placed the 'gun' away and took hold of the wire once more. With one concerted effort and all their body strength pushed into their arms, they pulled themselves from below the balcony and used the momentum of that movement to pitch one leg up and catch hold of the edge of the balustrade. Once purchase had been gained it was a simple matter to let go of the wire and with in the blink of an eye grab onto the marble rail and flip themselves over it. Rubber bottomed boots made sure the landing on the other side was completely soundless; a crouching position adopted until safety from sight was assured.  
  
Before they moved again it was time to dispense with the balaclava. It was a relief to have it off, the heat being trapped between the thick black wool and the almost reptilian quality of her cerulean skin. Tucking it into the top of her left boot for safe keeping, Darkholme stood slowly as her eerily saffron eyes scanned over the huge window panel; her reflection against the white of the balcony behind her making it hard for her to determine if the room was occupied. After, with great pains, obtaining the floor plans to the Chula Vista Assassin's leader's base of operations, it hadn't been difficult to ascertain that this forth floor guest bedroom was the weakest point of security in the whole compound. Not that she was happy at having to be here in the first place. It seemed to her a useless distraction, but if it was a full on clan war he wanted then it was a war like no other he would get. She had been issued with this task; all she had to do now was concentrate on carrying it out. The price was right so she had no reason to quibble.  
  
Slipping silently over to the door, Mystique retrieved a circular object from her jacket and placed it on the window, close to where the handle was positioned on the other side, near to the solid marble jamb. As she pressed the clear plastic down it became like a suction cup against the glass. When she took her hand away from it, it stayed in position whilst she pulled out a slim pencil type tool. Flicking it on, a sharp crimson beam shone from its end as she followed the outside line of the circle, a stream of bluish smoke rising from it as it cut into the glass. In no time at all, the hole was cut; the tip of the plastic plate caught quickly in her left hand to prevent it and the piece of removed glass from clashing loudly with the concrete floor of the balcony. Instead she placed them carefully down and then reached into the small gap, slowly lifting the catch inside and with her other hand pressed flush tot the glass, sliding it open soundlessly. Breaking and entering under these more---traditionally covert---methods weren't especially Darkholme's forte but she was proficient enough when the job called for it. More than proficient---she prided herself on the quality of her work, whether it was to obtain secrets through pillow talk or plain professional murder. But the hardest part of this particular job, one she'd working on for the past three months in one capacity or another was still a way off. She stepped into the dark unoccupied room.  
  
*  
  
The place Mystique needed to get to was not all that far from the guest bedroom where she had gained entry. But getting from point A to point B on the next floor had been predictably slow moving. More cameras, an unexpected foot patrol and a young daughter getting up for a glass of milk had all been obstacles that, in truth, had been over come easily, but had added more than ten minutes onto the fifteen tops that she wanted to be in the compound, grounds and all. Much to her chagrin. But a little way further down the hallway, back pressed against the wall to avoid the camera in the corner at the far end, up a short flight of stairs and she was there. Senor Philippe Fernandez's private Guild Ceremonial room.  
  
The lock on the ostentatiously golden gilded doors was surprisingly easy to pop. A simple jam of her bow knife and hey-presto. It was pitch black in the windowless room that sat atop of the grand house, on the fifth and final floor. Although she couldn't see it Raven could sense that the space was vast and fairly lofty, covering the area of almost the entire house if the blueprints she'd procured in San Diego were correct. She waited close to the door for a moment, just to make certain nobody was happening by, although that was a scant possibility as they would have to make specific effort to come up and there was no reason for anyone to be coming anywhere near here tonight. She had made certain. But there was nothing from the other side of the door so she moved off it; flicking on the small head of a torch attached above her right breast pocket. From what small amount of space that it lit up there appeared to be a central gangway that she was sure must lead to the alter that she needed to get to. She did not rush but nor was she overly cautious as she made her way down, taking a measured stride; all the time her eyes and ears wide open. Her foot steps made not a single sound against the fleecy runner.  
  
Soon her white light began to pick out the contours in the dark of a towering construction, dark and deep shadows forming to create a massive place of ceremonial splendour. She stopped, about two feet away from the alter that was adorned with Mexican style icons like the art works that had adorned the hallway in certain spots on the way up here. Opening the button on the pocket beneath where the small torch was attached, she dipped just two of her fingers in and took out a square folded pouch of pale blue airmail paper. Unfolding it carefully she held it open before her lips, being vigilant not to disturb the fine white powder contained with in it until she was ready. Then, with a short sharp inhale, she then released it just as quickly as it was drawn in, dispersing the fine light dust into a delicate cloud in the gloom. As the tiny sparkling particles settled back down to earth with a gentle flurry they highlighted what she had suspected; several criss-crossed red beams. An intricate laser alarm system that would set the whole house screaming if she were to come into even the merest contact with the thin neon ruby lines. Not a problem, she thought with a deliciously smug smile. Tripping the system wasn't an option, she didn't have the specific details of layout of the room and it would take her too long to locate the electronic sensors that fed the motion detector. Plus, any interference at all would more than likely alert the guards that sniffed around the place like blood-hounds. Strange for a house full of professional assassins to be so security conscious. But as long as they didn't catch her 'scent', which she was confident they wouldn't, she'd be fine.  
  
The whole matter was just a question of time, slipping through the hour glass. The second option was much quicker, and easier for someone with the physical abilities to implement. Placing the now empty slip of paper back into her pocket, Darkholme turned around and took a few steps back, creating some space. Turning back to the nave-like area, the patterns and spacing of the beams were etched on her memory as if chiselled into solid stone, though no longer visible. Tensing her body she suddenly adopted the pose of a gymnast; arms up in the air, one leg stretched out, the tip of the toe pointing to the ground. With a bursting run she leapt into the air just before the position of the first now invisible red line, landing clear the other side and then somersaulting again, touching the ground fleetingly and then again, touching the ground and again until she came down close to the alter. 10.0; a perfect landing. Not a single beam broken or neared by even a centimetre.  
  
But she had no time for self congratulation. She knew exactly what she was looking for and where to find it. She was also safe in the knowledge that from this far in, security was so lacks as to be non-existent. Their over confidence in the barriers they'd erected thus far being shattered in minutes by one woman. There was a small set of steps ahead of her, flanked on either side by beautifully carved wooden mahogany panelling. She skipped up them quickly, coming to a stop at what was the epicentre of the alter- piece. This was where all things precious to this particular clan of Assassins was kept. The entire history of their rise to power, their collection of spoils gleaned from their constant one-upmanship of the San Diego Thieves. She'd learnt all about it---studied and memorised the histories of both clans in meticulous detail.  
  
Mystique was now presented with a row of miniature casket style boxes set on a bench that was about waist height. She ignored them as soon as she recognised them as the assassin's tithes; the like of which were a tradition to present in all the clans of the world whether they be thief or assassin. But what she was after wasn't something quite so precious, although given the damage that the possession of a simple coin could cause one could argue that it was. Above this bench was a cupboard set into the rounded stomach of a Mexican goddess idol. Darkholme opened up the small latticed doors via their delicate hanging brass handles. She smiled darkly as her eyes fell upon the small box inside and quickly she reached in and opened it but was careful not to move it one jot. Stealth was in the details. There inside the velvet lining was her loot. She gazed upon them for a second; a pirate startled by a cachet of gold coins. But she only needed one---one would do almost all the destruction desired. Dipping her hands in, she retrieved the flat metalic disk on top of the pile. The light of her torch caught it, making the golden surface shine with the power of the fireflies that danced outside. The Chula Vista insignia blazed for a second and was then gone, tucked into the left breast pocket.  
  
"But we can't very well take without giving, can we?" She sneered as from the same pocket she pulled out a similar looking coin but this time the dragon insignia upon its moulded surface was that of the thieves clan that she had so successfully infiltrated. "Lopez sends his regards." She smirked.  
  
With that she dropped the incriminating coin into the box and snapped the lid shut, instantly regretting her haste as the sound echoed in the lofty room. She froze, her ears listening keenly into the darkness. Nothing. She moved swiftly then, no more messing around, closing the latticed doors quietly, the final part of this job had to be completed quickly.  
  
Going to the left of the goddess statue there was another cupboard of sorts, again set into the pregnant stomach of a female idol. Three letters lay inside, half folded into themselves, the rough old paper browned at the edges. To them, this assassin turned thief for the night left a fourth; a large red waxed seal binding it over, stamped with the San Diego dragon, the one that adorned the official stamp that only Velasquez Lopez had access to. Or so the theory went...But the seal had already been broken, the letter would be presumed to have been read and left in this reverential place. And so the mechanisms were in place. All she had to do now was sit back and wait. Wait for the white devil and the weather witch to bring her quarry to her. With equal stealth and speed, Raven Darkholme left the Chula Vista Assassin's compound as effortlessly as she had entered.  
  
* * *  
  
Naroapa Impokiro...  
  
The arrows rained down as dense as water would; zipping through the air with horrendous noise as they travelled in unison towards their targets. Ororo only had a split second to react now that full control over her powers had been restored to her. Wild white eyes that glowed heralded the wind that swept through the narrow street behind them and out into the piazza style square; carrying with it the dust of the soldiers it had collected to its breast on the way. With a graceful sweep of her hand the arrows diverted in a spiral formation; caught up in a gentle whirlwind that deposited them like the clatter of so many falling branches, onto the hard ground. They made a break for it with the time Storm had brought, darting for the steep steps across the square, only to be greeted by several more adversaries once they were a quarter of the way up. They were advancing down too quickly for Ororo to implement her powers for diversion purposes; hand to hand combat was once again unavoidable.  
  
"Stormy---heads up, girl!" Ororo turned just in time to get ready to catch the compact adamantium staff winging its way over to her. She caught it expertly, whizzing round as if were a baton, causing each end to snap out quickly into its full length. Just in time to fend off a blow that was raining down on her.  
  
For his part Remy unclipped his modified staff, but didn't bother to activate it as he rammed the end into the kneecap of the tribe man immediately in front of him, making his leg buckle and sending him tumbling down the steps head first. It gave Gambit the space to advance some more towards the towering summit and face his next opponent head on. But then, with his devil-may-care grin plastered on his face he changed tack and waited instead for the native to come to him. Just as he neared him, his poised, ready to strike, Remy used what was left of his upward momentum to forward-flip over the man. Landing at the other side of him with perfect balance, all it took then was a light kick into the centre of his chest, sending him to join his compadre in a heap down below.  
  
"Evah get de feelin' dere are some parties dat yaw jus' no' welcome at?" He quipped whilst giving yet another attacker a bloody nose with the flat of his palm.  
  
Ororo ducked, swerved and swept her leg along the ground, sending three down at once from the step above her. "Remy LeBeau, you are the king of the understatement." She bellowed over as she stood back up straight only to be forced to duck back down again as a man brandishing a blade literally jumped down several steps towards her. Lifting her arms and inadvertently dropping her staff, she pushed him, making sure he sailed straight over her. But not before he'd gotten a blow in himself; just nicking her side, the sharp blade slicing through her cotton top and opening up the surface of the skin. It was no worse than a paper cut really, it could have been a lot worse but that didn't stop her from momentarily losing her usual composure. Eyes steamed white once more as the sky above the temple became a sombre version of itself, filled with foreboding clouds. Distant thunder growled angrily.  
  
"Now, now Stormy," Gambit near laughed, not accustomed to seeing the queen of cool letting the mask slip. "Maybe dis place ain't so good fo' yo' after all, hien?"  
  
Storm had respite enough to throw him a pursed look over her shoulder, "Just save the wise cracks and watch your back my friend."  
  
"Wha---." *Clunk!*. "Fuck!" The large rounded edge of a heavy club cracked into the back of Remy's head before he had chance to heed her warning, just beneath the place where the skull curves inwards, the most vulnerable and possibly painful spot. Though he was still extremely lucky; if that had of been a blade he'd let his guard down on, his head would have been split in two right now. Time to get serious. He suddenly found himself as pissed with these jokers as Storm was. Quickly he turned around, confronting the club bearer who was getting ready to deliver what perhaps would have been a killer blow. "No' today, chump." He flicked the switch on his staff, administering a quick, sharp shock as he jabbed it into the man's ribs. To hell with no harming, if they were playing for keeps then so was he. But he knew full well as he watched the now unconscious man collapse to the ground still twitching that it hadn't been severe enough to kill, but maybe, hopefully, the others would think that it had been. And now the top was in sight---just a kick, right-hook and a jump away.  
  
Storm had a swifter way though---her winds, warm and strong, rushing upwards and throwing her adversaries to their fate. She landed with a lightness of step next to Remy on the broad flat of top of the pyramid type construction that supported the temple. But for all her skill of landing, she soon found herself rudely grabbed, by Remy, and thrown to the side into an alcove created by the convergence of two huge statues; hidden in their cooling shadow. Another assault of arrows came flooding in, chipping at the walls around them, shattered stone and dust flying; the closest one landing not a millimetre from Remy's right bicep. But they were fairly impervious from where they were and it gave Gambit the chance he needed to cast his cunning thief's eye over where they now found themselves. More arrows cut the air and stone with deliberate tension.  
  
In a matter of seconds Remy took in the wide stone entrance, blocked with a large slab that seemed to be anchored to a lever system and two giant stone sprockets to the right of it. Getting it open quickly would probably not be too much of a problem. The only snag lay in the fact that it was on the right side and they were pinned in on the left, under danger of another attack by arrows. From where they now were Storm's winds couldn't be one hundred percent relied on to keep them out of harms way whilst he triggered the pulley system.  
  
"Any ideas?"  
  
Remy smiled to himself, his over worked brain clicking a devilishly simple plan into place. "Yah, actually." Cocky and self-assured; just the way she liked him. He moved out of the alcove a fraction, but was still protected by the huge stone leg at his back. If he was going to do this he had to be damn quick about it. Taking his staff into his right hand, javelin-like, he burst into a run, pulling his arm back so that his weapon was level with his shoulder and then threw it with all his force and precision at the mechanism. But before he let go, nifty fingers flicked the switch back on, making the end spark with lively blue light. More weaponry hailed in; he practically threw himself in the air to avoid it, balling his legs beneath him and forward rolling. It was 'on the hop' but he still managed to make it look like the most elegant action known to man. The Cajun charmer had a knack and no mistake. To top it all off his wing-and-a-prayer plan was working too; the jolt of electricity triggering off the pulley mechanism as he'd hoped, with a latent roar the massive slab of light stone began to yawn open, revealing its black gulf.  
  
He landed close to it and immediately spun around, checking Ororo's whereabouts; giving a small smile for her as she bounded over with a few nimble strides. "Quick girl!" He shouted as he crouched, ready to roll under the slab before the next assault came in, "I don' know 'ow much longer dat's gon' hold." He spared a glance to his right; his staff was already sparking madly, looking ready to blow as the ropes that held tightly to the sprockets starting to smoke and summarily caught aflame in a vicious burst of hot vermilion. But she was there with him in no time; both rolling under the door into the black, mere seconds before the fire ripped through the ropes completely, the electrical current in the staff reached breaking point, shattering the ancient pulley system to pieces as the fuse box exploded and the door slammed back down with a thunderous bang that shot through the city. The last barrage of arrows did nothing more than crack and splinter into the impenetrable slab; impotent.  
  
*  
  
+"No more!"+ An aged voice rang across the square from high on the battlements. All activity ceased and the atmosphere became almost ghostly. As the sky cleared of its dark mark overhead, the man who had spoken stepped forwards. Rich eyes watched the door, a face that had creased over the years with sincere lines, held an expression of regret. +"We have failed---there is nothing more we can do."+ He said to all and no-one at the same time with a wise air. The Chief of the Yaitata'í tribe stepped forwards from his lofty position, a feeling of dread flowing through his veins as swift as his blood.  
  
Slowly his neck craned back until old eyes fell on the feminine face atop of the temple they had so desperately tried to defend---bitter in there failure to do so after half a millennia of their ancestors fending off any would-be interlopers. But it was beyond them now. + "We must trust all to Yolocan-Uato now."+  
  
With a rattling cry, bellowing deep from his chest, the leader of this band of defenders called his forces back, away from the doomed city that it was their ancestral duty to protect. But now they had no choice other than to retreat to their forest home, and pray that the ancient fires of Yolocan- Uato would not wreak the terrible anger upon their people for the intrusion on her slumber.  
  
* * *  
  
Inside the Yolocan-Uato Temple...  
  
Remy and Ororo couldn't see all that much in the impenetrable gloom as they scrambled to their feet. Their narrow escape preserving them for now but as for what the immediate future held? They had no idea what they'd walked into here.  
  
Gambit absently rubbed at the back of his head; now that the adrenaline rush had passed the pain returned with vengeance. "Damn---de homme got me good." He grumbled as he ruffled his thick hair with the action.  
  
"Serves you right for not paying attention," Ororo tried to stop a good- natured smirk, "How many times have I warned you in Danger Room sessions?"  
  
"Oui, oui chèrie---no need t' rub it in." He shot back with fond annoyance, grinning at her in the relative dark. Then he turned his attention to the more serious matters, trying to work out where they were and what to do next. He tilted his head back as he turned in a slow circle, studying the space. There was nothing really to see; a chamber? A hall? A corridor? He turned to her with a wicked grin, "Alright den---if yaw in 'fearless leader' mode , yo' wanna tell meeeAAARGH!"  
  
Without warning the floor beneath them slopped down like a trapdoor falling open; sending the pair sliding down, not giving them even the ghost of a chance to save themselves from plummeting into a dark abyss.  
  
"YYYAAAARRGH!!" They cried in unison as they came off the edge of the slope and fell down into an unknown space, lit by the merest shard of light. They both seemed to hear the sloshing splash before they felt the wetness on their impact; the water was warm, almost hot like bathwater as they were pulled under. There was no time for them to gain their bearings; both realising as they continued to sink down, their throats burning as they tried to hold in the last breath they'd managed to snatch before going under, that if they didn't ditch their heavy backpacks they were unlikely to be remerging any time soon.  
  
Ororo thrashed from side to side as she worked off the thick straps, feeling suddenly buoyant as it eventually slipped off, letting her kick for the surface. As she broke through the gently swaying top of the almost viscous water she threw her head back, the stale air bursting from her lips as pulled in a fresh one. But even that gave her no relief; the air above the water suffering from the stench that characterised the stagnant pool they'd landed in.  
  
"GACK!" Remy rose up to Ororo's left, spitting out some of the dark water that had gotten into his mouth; its taste beyond foul. "Jésus!" He exclaimed amid a fit of coughing and spluttering; not daring to open his eyes just yet as he felt the sluggish water still running over them from his hair.  
  
Ororo swam over to him slowly, her chin pushed back as she tried to keep it as far away from the filthy surface as she could. "Rather a junior mistake don't you think?" She laughed as she reached him and then looked up at the gaping section of floor that had deposited them down here; muck dripping down from its edge into the pool with loud splotches.  
  
"Hmph! De classic booby-trap, non?" Remy replied wryly as he treaded water at her side, turning to look up at where she had her eyes fixed. As their vision adjusted to the gloom they could just about make out that what they were languishing in was a pit of some sort, no bigger than eight foot square, at most.  
  
Ororo swam over to the far wall where there appeared to be something about a foot above water level attached to the wall. "What have you got left in your trousers?" She asked as she touched against the protruding objects, just about being able to make them out as jaguar heads, mainly by feel rather than sight as she glided both hands over one of them; the surface slippery with a thin layer of algae.  
  
"Excusez-moi?"  
  
Ororo turned to look at him over her shoulder, her hands still clinging to the grainy wet surface of the animal idol as dark droplets dripped from the white of her hair plastered close to her head. "The pockets on your trousers---what have you got left in them? Everything else we had was in our bags---we have nothing to get us out of here. This space is far too small and deep down for me to conjure a wind." That last fact was something she was trying not to think about to much.  
  
"Righ'." Remy murmured as he dipped his hands low into the murky warm depths, feeling at his pockets. His machete was still attached to his belt as was his water canteen. There were a few more bits and pieces but most of them would have been ruined by such a severe soaking in the water and in any case wouldn't have done them all that much good had they been functioning. But suddenly he stopped searching, the soft lapping sound his movements in the water were creating ceasing instantly. He took in a deep breath through his nose.  
  
"What's dat smell?" It had pervaded over that of the water, just in the last few seconds, a kind of natural gassy scent...His eyes fell on the jaguar heads and widened in realisation. "'RORO! GET DOWN!"  
  
Without having to ask why she followed his lead, ducking below once more. It seemed it was opportunely timed as she dared to open her eyes and look up, just in time to see three furious red balls of fire rip across the surface, emanating from the mouths of the revered jungle cats. Once the flames had gone they shot back up, wiping the water from their face, both coughing this time.  
  
"At leas' we know we ain't gon' freeze t' death down 'ere."  
  
The quip won him no favour. "Have you got anything or not?" She was beginning to feel pretty crowded in here.  
  
"Wait a minu'e...I migh'...yes!" He exclaimed, pulling his hands back up from the water Remy revealed two solid steel spikes. He threw them over to Ororo, "It gon' be a struggle but it's de best I can do chère. Yo' go firs' den chuck 'em back down."  
  
Storm gripped the two cold lengths of steel; fat at their tops until they narrowed down to a harp, hard point. Holding them firmly in her hands she inquired. "And what if you miss them?"  
  
"Yo' doubtin' mah ability t' catch?" He pretended to be offended to which she simply smiled as she glided past her companion until she met with the wall at his back, opposite the flaming heads. She then dug the spikes into the moisture swelled bricks with a determine plunge. Thankfully they cut the surface easily enough, the warm water having softened the stones somewhat.  
  
"Hurk!" Ororo exhaled harshly as she heaved herself up; digging in the first spike into the black, soft wall, quickly followed by the second one. This was going to be pain staking work, the task not helped by the extra weight saturating her clothes and filling her boots. "Huurrrck!" She planted the first spike higher; at first struggling to yank it from the wall, only to drive it in just as deep with the third strike. By just an inch or two, she lifted herself from the water.  
  
*  
  
An hour or so later...  
  
They walked up the broad curve; now confident in their approach after no more signs of imminent danger. But after their first encounter with ancient trickery they had still taken pains to be ultra cautious, studiously avoiding all other booby-traps; Remy still rather peeved at falling, no pun intended, into such an obvious trap---he wasn't called a Master Thief for nothing. It had taken them half-an-hour or so to get out of that pit, exhausting them even further before they had even begun to face the true 'delights' of what this place held in store for them. Their clothes had only just started to dry out.  
  
As they walked along the passage way they were at least guided by a modicum of light spilling in from the arched ceiling, letting them know that they were at least close to the top of the temple; having had to find their way though most of the spiralling maze, that twisted like the city did, in the dark. The walk had been more-or-less silent; partly due to concentration and partly avoidance. They had so far encountered no more of the ashen corpses that littered the rest of the city and nor had they heard or seen any evidence that the tribe of protectors had somehow contrived to gain entrance and were following them. As they passed through smooth stone thorough-fares, lined with gigantic circular columns that were adorned with the nameless deities of a long forgotten race, each was lost in the annals of their own personal worlds. Minds winding around past and present situations.  
  
Ororo pressed her hand lightly along the gentle swerve of an animal's body as it wound around on of the columns on her way past it. The texture as smooth as the day it was carved; the large cat contorted into an improbable dance of reverie, its long protruding tongue a lashing tendril, its eyes--- wild staring orbs. She wondered as her fingers fell from the tip, what noble peoples had resided here and created such brilliance. What inspired them to construct such beauty and what brought them to their premature end? The answer seemed worryingly obvious. Whatever it was that was kept here, surely it was secluded, at obvious pains, for a reason. The attacks they had suffered on two occasions in the past twenty-four hours now began suddenly to make more sense to her as she thought about it. They simply didn't want them here not so much because they were intruding but moreover because they couldn't risk letting outsiders getting their hands on the Carcoccia. Tantie Mattie was right---whatever it was had such awesome power that it would be disastrous for anyone to possess it.  
  
"Remy?"  
  
"Oui?"  
  
Ororo stopped and waited patiently for him to do so. A couple of yards past her he eventually did, half turning towards her as he rubbed his forearm over across his forehead---the heat catching up with him only when he stood still. But it was accompanied by an odd feeling that had been building in him the further they'd travelled into the heart of the temple. Endlessly around and around. "Qu'est-ce que c'est, mon chère?"  
  
"I do not think we should do this," She shook her head regretfully, "I know I agreed no matter what but this thing---we have seen what it can do."  
  
He turned to her fully, "We don' know fo' sure---." He started, doing an about-turn on what he practically admitted earlier in agreeing with her fears.  
  
"Do not be so naive Remy," She cut in sternly, "Of course we do. We have seen this kind of thing enough times in our lives to know. There are certain forces in this world that should be left alone. Beings and objects that have powers for whatever reason that should not be exercised or twisted to the perverted wills of others. For when they are the results can be...catastrophic." She searched his hard set face for any response to reason but found none. "We have no right to disturb what has been dormant for an age."  
  
Remy came towards her, still no evidence of yielding in his manner. Stopping just half a foot or so away from her in a shaft of dark blue that came from above, making the shadows deep and his eyes black, he said. "Non' we don'---but yo' t'ink if we don' do dis then it gon' be safe?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Tell me---whose de one bein' naive? If we leave 'ere now, dey'll jus' send someone else. Now dey've got de scent, dey'll stop at nuhddin to get dere hands on it---don' yo' see dat?"  
  
"We could---."  
  
"We could what?" He surprised her slightly with the ire in his voice as he cut across her. Surprised himself a little too if truth be told. Continuing somewhat more calmly, he said, "When de Guild wants somet'in' dis bad it gon' take mo'e dan a disapproving school teacher to stop dem." He raised an eyebrow at her and gave her a lop-sided smile. "We gotta get dis---if it only means dat we stop some uddah prick wit' less respect from gettin' hold o' it."  
  
Ororo threw her head back slightly and uttered an incredulous laugh, "But do you not see Remy," Her head fell back down and she fixed him with serious eyes. "That is exactly who will get hold of it---right when we deliver it into their hands. Willingly." She moved, walking past him, prompting him to turn with her progress around him "Can you live with that on your conscience?"  
  
"Remy's lived wit' a lot worse petite." He said quickly and instantly regretted it. But before Storm had time to reproach him for it, he said, "Besides---who say's dey will?"  
  
Ororo looked confused for a moment before the expression turned to curiosity. "What are you planning LeBeau?" She asked with an uncertain smile as she began to move backwards, carrying on along the wide corridor. The mysteries of the way his mind worked at times would never be fully open to her she was sure. But then again that was always apart of his allure. Was that what was worrying her? The fact that there were dark corners of his head and heart that she doubted anyone would be able to reach. Even her?  
  
His face became unreadable once more, with that trade mark wicked grin, almost lost beneath the growth that was almost counting for a full on beard in the current dimness. "Watch dis space chère, dat's all I'm sayin'." He replied intentionally cryptically. "De Gambit's always got an' ace up 'is sleeve."  
  
"You can be so infuriating at times," She laughed, still edging carefully backwards as she talked to him, "Do you know that? Completely infuriating."  
  
"Oui---an' don' yo' jus' love it?" Again with the exasperating yet endearing arrogance. She rolled her eyes at him and was about to turn around, never breaking her step, when suddenly--- "Wait!" Remy's warning did not come in time as she felt her boot brush against something on the floor, snagging against the back of her foot. But it was too late to do anything about it. All at once Remy dived towards her knocking her to the ground as on either side of them long sharp wooden spikes shot from concealed spaces in the walls and pillars; long enough to interlock with each other; the jagged, gnarly teeth of a shark.  
  
Remy eventually lifted his head up a little from Ororo's shoulder; his arms wrapped about her protectively as his body sprawled over hers. He couldn't lift it very far though; a spear stretched out an inch or two above his neck not allowing him to. Never-the-less he was able to turn to his left and right, checking to see just how pinned to the spot they were. He looked down at the ground by their feet; the incredibly thin length of rope that had been very close to the stone ground, sagged after being triggered.  
  
"Trip wires an' 'idden spears. Hmph!---I give dem five outta ten fo' originality. Eight fo' execution." He looked down at Ororo, his face directly above hers as she lay beneath him, her arms about his bare back. "An' ten outta ten t' yo' fo' stupidity an' no' payin' attention, hien?"  
  
"If you are so bright, then why did you not see the wire before I tripped it and not during?" She countered breathlessly, her heart still pounding. She could feel his too---beating in time with each other as their bodies pressed together.  
  
"Nobodies perfect."  
  
"Remy LeBeau---the things you will do to get a woman on her back." Storm sighed in mock chastisement, making Remy chuckle huskily---suddenly more conscious of the fact that he was laid between her legs. A creaking noise began above them and they both tore their eyes away to look up at the spikes slowly receding back into their concealment. As soon as enough space had been cleared Remy pushed back onto his knees and then took hold of Ororo's hands, pulling them both up to their feet.  
  
He reached out and caught hold of her chin, clasping it lightly, tipping it slightly. "Eyes open from now one, hien?" He told her, almost softly.  
  
Ororo's eyes searched over his face, looking for what, she did not know. "Yes." She replied simply as he let go of her and moved on. She stood for a moment, the heat from his hands still on her skin. The palms of her hands too she realised, buzzed with the same heat, where they had lain over the taut expanse of his back. She looked down at them and then back up at him as he carried on alone the curving path of the corridor---he was burning up and it wasn't as if the temperature of the air was all that sultry anymore as night time settled outside. Or maybe it was just her not being able to feel it anymore.  
  
*  
  
"We gotta be close t' de centre." Remy said as they came to a stop in front of the first doorway they'd encountered in the entire place. The whole temple had been constructed like some kind of mammoth helter-skelter--- nothing more than a huge elaborate spiral; a tower with one purpose. "Dis mus' be it."  
  
This part of the temple was completely cylindrical, not sloping like the rest; it had levelled itself out. All around on the outer walls were eyelet slits, only large enough to admit the passing of arrows. Remy walked over to one of them, peering through it with one eye close as if sneaking a look through a key hole. They were high up, extremely high; apart from the clear starry night sky he could see all over the city, noting that there was no sign of life down there anymore, and out of the dipping volcano top that cradled it so protectively; the dark expanse of forest painted beneath a canvas of sky. As he turned back around he tried to swallow down; his saliva thick and too sticky to glide down easily and all water they'd had had been used up long ago now. If he admitted it to himself he felt like shit, he really did and it had been getting worse the higher they'd travelled. The blood in his veins fairly bubbled. He leant back against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment after he'd checked Ororo wasn't looking- --he didn't want to concern her.  
  
Storm was busy getting a feel of the place. She came close to the tall door that was set into two arching columns, the like of which characterised the whole place. Coming close to them she held her outstretched palms not an inch away from the door, moving them up and down like she was feeling for something. Her intuitions could sometimes feel the innate forces of nature that extended outside of the weather; all life connected with invisible strings, earth's personal rhythm. After a while she began to sense a tremendous natural force; tumultuous and powerful---like fire. Her fingers crackled and sparked in response. She withdrew them, taking a step or two back.  
  
By now Remy had come back to her side. "So what yo' t'ink chère?" He asked as he ran a careful eye over the door and then turned to Ororo, "We in or are we in?"  
  
The familiar white mist consumed her eyes as she stepped back even more, almost as far as she could before the wall stopped her. "We are in." She said as she raised her hands, bringing them together above her head until her palms were about an inch above apart. A growing wind that she did not intend to create inadvertently began to fill the space as a small ball of white light, fizzing with electric blue tendrils came into being between her hands. It grew and it grew until it consumed her hands; a bright orb binding them together. Suddenly throwing her hands forwards, Storm catapulted the ball of raw electrical power at the door, smashing it to pieces instantly and what wasn't destroyed by the initial blast soon burnt away to nothing.  
  
They walked towards it, clearing the smoke left behind with flailing arms, going through the opening without hesitation.  
  
"I don' goddamn believe it." Remy growled. There was nothing there. It was simply a vast, round empty room. But it was absolutely scorching---like a sauna put on the highest setting. This must have been where it was coming from, he thought, like a central furnace.  
  
The pair walked further in, one going to the left the other to the right. The only distinguishing features about the room where two appendages that looked like rounded stone bolts, set exactly half-way around the room on either side, above which flames burned in a small port in the wall, throwing their orange glow across the room. The only other thing in there was another doorway, directly opposite the one they had come in so that each feature in the room divided it into quarters like the points on a Celtic-cross. But this second door was not blocked with an easily surmountable gateway like the other one but was modelled after the main one at the temples entrance; a solid slab blocking their path.  
  
"Jus' when yo' t'ink yo' got t' de end o' de puzzle." Remy remarked more wearily than in humour as he placed his hand on the bolts rough surface.  
  
Ororo checked over the other one in a similar manner, but her mind was still wondering about this force she could still feel; a red hot torrent. "Where is it coming from?" She asked softly to herself.  
  
Remy heard her. "De floor." He said, gazing down at it and tapping his boot a couple of times against the hard ground. The heat was so strong that he could feel it even through the thick, tough soles. This must have been what was making him feel increasingly out of sorts, he was absolutely positive now.  
  
Ororo took her attentions from the bolt and crouched to the ground. He was right; it was coming from down there, she could sense it clearly now--- deep, deep down beneath their feet. Tentatively she touched her hand to the ground, just her finger tips. She pulled in a quick harsh breath through her teeth more in shock than in pain as she whipped her hand away; the floor was like a bed of burning hot coals. Quickly she stood back up.  
  
"Where do'y t'ink it comin' from?"  
  
Ororo simply shook her head but she had an idea---a fairly unpleasant idea. Surely they would have...no, there was no way a city would have been built here if it was still active? Surely...  
  
Remy turned back to the bolt, trying to suss it without having to disturb it. "I t'ink dere like keys or somet'in'." He guessed as he looked over to the one that Ororo was near and then back to his, running his thumb over the engraving in its centre of a mysterious symbol.  
  
"So if we turn them?" She studied the one on hers too but it offered absolutely no clue---just a nonsensical squiggle to an outsiders such as they were.  
  
"The door should open---dat's de t'eory anyway." He finished and then his eyebrows knitted together. "But we can't be certain dat it ain't anuddah trap. Mebbe dey both need t' be moved at de same time---mebbe only one needs t' be turned. But which one, hien?"  
  
"You tell me Monsieur Voleur de Maitre."  
  
Remy winked at her over his shoulder, "Dere's only one way t' find out chère," He grinned and then turned back to the bolt, getting a firm hold of it as it roughly filled his palm, "Trial an' error---an' pray dat dere won't be too much error." His fingers gripped on it tighter, "If I turn dis an' nuhddin' 'appens, den yo' twist yaws, comprendre?"  
  
"Alright." Ororo somewhat reluctantly agreed as she went back to her bolt, taking hold of it, ready. "But if something does happen?" She asked suddenly just as he was limbering up to turn it.  
  
"Den dat depend."  
  
"On what?"  
  
"On wedduh it be good or uddahwise." He laughed, but it faltered a little, "Well--- 'ere goes." Remy grabbed it as firmly as he could, readjusting his grip slightly to account for the moisture on his uncovered finger and then began to turn it with all of his strength. It didn't budge initially; his teeth clenched as he strained against it. But finally the Cajun felt something give; the rumbling grind of stone against stone, vibrating through his hand. Ever-so-slowly, he moved it, anti-clockwise. The noise it gave off was deep and rather ominous as it gradually began to twist more freely the further he pushed it but that was quickly forgotten as it began to work. Both turned to look at the doorway, the light coloured slab moving upwards in accordance with its model far below. Remy laughed again but it was with relief this time as the slab raised higher and higher and higher... "It workin' chère."  
  
One could say the wayward X-Man was tempting fate or perhaps that he simply spoke too soon as the final section of the slab disappeared up into the wall, instantly drawing in both bolts at the same time. Ororo reacted swifter than her companion on this occasion; letting go of the chunky knob before it dragged her hand into the black hole. But Remy didn't have as much time to gain his wits; once the bolt had plunged back into its deep setting a clamp of sorts closed around it, trapping Remy's forearm an inch or two past the wrist.  
  
"Huuuurrr-AH!" Instinct reaction was for him to pull, but even as he was doing it he knew the action was futile and would probably only serve to make the contraption tighten around his arm, like a Chinese finger trap. That was page one crap---he really was acting like an amateur at the moment.  
  
Ororo was at his side in shot, only having narrowly avoided the same fate. "Goddess---Remy!" She frantically ran her hand around the closure about his arm, looking from something, anything, "What can I do?!"  
  
"Fo' a start yo' can calm down." He gave her an odd look, "What's wrong wit' yo' girl? It not like yo' t' get so twitchy." For a moment he tried to feel about the inside with his trapped hand, remembering everything he'd been taught, all that training, stored safely his mind after the years of putting it into practice. But there was nothing he could get his hands on, no facet of the mechanism inside that he could trip; his long fingers reaching out into nothing but space.  
  
"What can I do?" She asked again, having regained some of her composure; he was right, it wasn't like her to panic so, but she'd been doing it more and more as the days had past. Being scared for the safety of a teammate and a friend was one thing, but what if they were more than that? Was he beginning to mean more to her than that?...  
  
"Jus' wait---we gotta t'ink 'bout dis rationally. De trap works like a shutter, so if I pull it jus' gon' get tighter. But pushin' won' help edduh, I can'---."  
  
*DDDDUUUUUBBBRRRRRRRRKRKKRK!!!* The floor began to rumble and then the walls around them. Whatever was latent having been sprung into life by their actions. At first slim jets of thick white steam began to rise from the minute cracks and unseen crevasses in between the twisting slabs that made up the floor as the noise became louder and louder and the tremors more violent in their nature.  
  
"Okay---so now yo' can panic." Remy deadpanned to her over the veritable earthquake volume noise. The shaking became so bad that Storm was having trouble staying on her feet. To their total horror they could only look on as the first stone in the centre of the floor fell away, a hot red light shinning up through it like a torch. It became terrifying and glaringly obvious then what this temple was---Ororo suspicions and fears realised. It had been built, for whatever reason, like a flume above what was still very much an active volcano. More pieces of the floor began to fall away, from the centre outwards.  
  
Instantly Ororo grabbed for his arm, feeling around the edge of the stone that had it held fast. There had to be something here, she reasoned with herself, forcing a calm over herself.  
  
"Go Stormy!" Remy implored her, he had no idea what was about to happen to him, how he'd get himself out of this one, but he didn't want her in the firing line, as it were. "Get yo'self outta 'ere now!"  
  
"No." She cried back sternly as the room began to fill with the toxic heat and fumes from the raging lava below. They both coughed furiously as the acid air burned down their throats. "I am *gaack—cough!* I am not going without you." She shouted definitely. The floor continued to cave, picking up momentum, a sudden larger blast from below throwing them both off balance; Remy falling back against the wall, all his weight hanging on his arm, almost breaking his collar bone with the unexpected jolt, making him wince silently. Ororo fell backwards but quickly regained her footing, clamouring quickly back over to him. As she came near to him her smoke- reddened eyes couldn't hide the note of fear in their glassy reflection. Not at all for herself, she could die a thousand deaths, but all for him.  
  
When she was at his side once more, Remy took hold of her with his left hand, holding the side of her head somewhat roughly but only to make her look him in the eyes and see his seriousness. Red irises burned with all the need and love he felt for her, everything she'd meant to him over the years and perhaps everything she could have meant if only they'd had the chance---but it was looking like that wasn't on the cards for them anymore.  
  
"Ororo." He never called her that, "Listen t' me---yo've gotta go, or nedduh of us are gettin outta 'ere. If dis is de end fo' me den so be it--- but I'm not gonna take yo' wit' me, yo' hear! Don' make me responsible fo' dat!" He ran his thumb over her cheek, his fingers closing around the back of her head, sinking into her hair, feeling its softness perhaps for the last time. The thought almost killed him inside... "Please.." He pleaded.  
  
Ororo squeezed her eyes shut, rare tears that she could no longer pretend were not within her spilled from the corners tracing clear track through the fine layer of dirty soot type dust that was being to cover both of them. She shook her head vigorously, "No Remy---I will not give up. I can not leave you here!"  
  
Remy released his hold on her, almost pushing her from him as he did so. "Damn it 'Roro!" He spat out furiously, probably the most vitriolic she'd ever heard him in her life. "Get out---NOW!"  
  
"I can not!" Half the floor had gone now and the heat was unbearable; red and orange plumes spitting up dangerously.  
  
"Fine!" If she wouldn't go without him, Remy surmised that he only had one option left. He suddenly grabbed at something on his belt; Ororo stepped back as he drew it up. It was his machete. Gripping it awkwardly in his left hand, he laid it as close to the end of his right arm as could, near to where the wall had claimed it.  
  
Ororo gasped in shock, stopping just short of covering her mouth in horror, "You can not!"  
  
"I ain't got all dat much choice chère. If yo' can t'ink o' somet'in bedduh, feel free t' let me know. Anytime 'bout now will do." He turned from her, unable to stand it anymore; angry at her for refusing to leave him, even angrier at himself for putting her here. This wasn't about saving the world or anything else she would gladly give her life for, this was his stupidity and nothing more. He took in a deep breath, the fumes stinging, clenched his jaw and drew the blade back. The sweat poured as he readied himself; his whole body as tight as a drum. Clammy finger assured their grip on the black plastic of the handle and he closed his eyes. The blade rushed down.  
  
"Wait!" Ororo caught his arm halfway down---the gravity of the situation pushing her mind into overdrive, forcing her to get a grip. An old trick of Achmed's remembered---all she needed was something small.  
  
"It de only way 'Ro---let go o' mah fuckin' arm!" He growled before sparing a glance at the ground, there was only a thin layer left, three or four bricks wide, circling around the edge of the room, the rest a hell-like gulf---spitting fire-and-brimstone and all.  
  
"I think I can trip it open." She fell to her knees, rifling through his pockets to see if there was anything left. "All I need is something small." Bits of metal fell to the floor but nothing that was small enough to be of any use. But as she bent down further into the lowest pocket something tapped again and again at the under side of her chin.  
  
Of course!  
  
Quickly Ororo got back to her feet and as she did so she took hold of the precious sapphire about her neck, still there on its thin chain after everything. With one yank she ripped it off, the links burning against her skin, taking some of it away as they dragged around. "This should do it--- just hold still." She blinked her eyes, clearing the stinging from the smoke as she took hold of his arm with her left hand and then pushed the tiny blue nugget in between his arm and the edge of the stone that surrounded it.  
  
Remy held his breath, his face set in a determine grimace as Ororo dug the gem in, almost burrowing it into his arm, making him clench his hidden hand into a fist as blood poured from the wound it had made. He could feel it shaking on the other side with tension as the jagged sapphire was pushed deeper and deeper. Although he was sure this pain was preferable to the other.  
  
"Ggggrrrrrrrrr---ahhh!" With a grinding noise the hole loosened slowly, the binding slats opening up and at last his arm was free.  
  
But there was no time for jubilation, the ground was down to the last two layers and the door was half a room away. "C'mon!" He grabbed Ororo's hand and they ran---they ran faster than they had ever ran in their lives, still only keeping one foot fall ahead of the falling bricks as the last of the floor gave up its resistance. They were almost there, almost to safety--- Remy's heart raced as with one last giant bound he made for the doorway, pulling Storm with him. But as he leapt for it he suddenly felt a force tugging back. His free hand just about managed to grab hold of the column before he was pulled back completely, giving him enough leverage to hook his foot around it too, getting through the thresh-hold. But he was only halfway in and struggling to hold on at that.  
  
"AHH!" The floor had fallen from underneath Ororo and she was now hanging from Remy's left arm, dangling perilously above oblivion as molten rock and flames licked and raged beneath her.  
  
-TBC-  
  
Hehe..aren't I a rotter! Promise I'll be as quick as I can with the next update and reviews get me writing twice as fast! 


	12. Chapter12

Many thanks go to Natural, Amiee Belle, Tedabug, turtle dove, keebler-elmo, Yellowdragon Fly, Koala-chan, Tania, Rat, Yawning, girlonthem00n and also ddrinki4 and anyone else who tried to review but couldn't. I know this site is being a total arse about accepting reviews at the moment---I didn't get the notices until two to three days after most of you posted them!  
  
Chapter.12.  
  
The Yolocan-Uato Temple...  
  
Both of Ororo's hands held as tightly as they could onto Remy's left one but she wasn't sure how much longer she could keep it that way. Her head was spinning, consciousness threatening to leave her at any moment as the unbearable fumes began to consume and envelope her. She tried her best not to look down as her legs flailed beneath her, keeping her eyes on Remy's arm as every muscle and tendon within it stood in relief against the skin, straining to keep a hold of her as his other arm hooked around the column; the dark streak of blood staining the cinnamon skin, still weeping lazily from the wound she'd placed there.  
  
Remy knew he was pushing his body to breaking point but somewhere inside he found it within him to carry on. But he needed that bit extra to pull this off and he was determined to plumb the very depths to find it. He wasn't going to lose his Stormy here, like this---not today.  
  
"GgggrrrrrrrrraaaAAH!" With everything he had and then some, Remy heaved himself against the column, just enough to get his left foot onto the edge of the door. Once he had it over the thresh hold he simultaneously flipped his body around and threw himself to the ground so that he now lay against it with both arms hanging off the edge; immediately Ororo had the courage to loosen the grip of her left hand and catch it instead to his free right one. It had been a gamble; the second he'd let go of that column to turn down to the ground he knew that Storm's weight on his left arm could very well have dragged them both down into a fiery exit. That gamble had paid off, sure---but they were not out of the woods just yet.  
  
"I got yo' chèrie!" His voice was strained in his throat as he began to pull her up, this time every cord and muscle on his upper body standing out with the pressure. "Huuurrraaarrrghhhh!" With a forceful tug he pitched his body up, managing to get onto his knees and pulling Ororo up some more; her head reaching over the level of what was once the floor. It was just the opening she needed to gather all of the strength that she could muster.  
  
"Let go of my left hand."  
  
Remy did so, trusting her to know what she was doing. As soon as he released it, it left her free to grab onto the bottom of the opposite column; thrusting herself up and taking hold of it as far around as she could. He then reached down with his free hand and grabbed the biggest handful of her trousers and belt that he could and simply heaved her up to safety; collapsing back as she pitched forwards onto him. Finally out of harms way. Remy didn't rest though until he had dragged her further down the passage way that they were in now, as far as he could get them away from the edge, until he collapsed back. Both splayed on the ground.  
  
*  
  
Ororo lay flat on the uneven floor, heaving her breaths as her whole body trembled from its core with sheer exhaustion. The ground scratched at her skin but she didn't care. Even if she'd have been capable of moving under her own volition, she seriously doubted whether she'd want to at this moment. But that decision was soon taken from her.  
  
Remy may have been as utterly worn as Ororo but he found it in him somewhere to scramble over to her, hands and knees to pull her up into his arms. An unequalled experience he feared he'd never have the chance to do again. The gravity of that realisation may have weighed on him, may have made him feel sick to the stomach---but it had helped clarify things for him too.  
  
He held her to him now, his arms hooked beneath hers, wrapped around her back with a tight possessiveness as she lay against his body as limp as a rag doll---wanting to hold him just as tightly but presently lacking the physical will to do so. His hands scrunched into balls, fisting up her torn shirt as his cheek pressed against the side of her head; offering silent prayer to her Goddess for keeping Storm safe for him. He'd never been one to believe in anything of that nature but at that point he may very well have believed in anything and indeed everything.  
  
"Mon chèrie..." Remy whispered close to her ear, his voice rasping and warm against her. He could feel the tremble of her body and soon realised that it was his too; quaking in his love. The relief, fear and weariness. Finally he pulled back, moving his hands around to cup her face, first pressing a kiss to one soot stained cheek, marked with the salty, clear tracks of tears that he could taste on his dry lips when he touched his tongue to them. Then he moved to her other cheek, and then her closed eyelid with its long curling sweep of ebony, and then her forehead, her nose, until he found himself littering her face with soft but somehow frantic kisses. All the time he murmured to her in his low, comforting drawl, over and over again, in between each heart-felt osculation, "Ma Tempête Angélique...ma Tempêter..." Hushed words he hadn't used to her for years caressed her as much as his hands and his kisses, rousing her, giving her the fortitude to respond.  
  
Storm brought her hands up to cup his face in mirror of the way his gently supported hers, pressing a kiss to his chin from her lower position, rough against her lips, as was the dimple, just past his mouth, at the left side of his face. "Remy..." Her voice quivered, as quickly, her at first light kisses became as insistent as his now were, showering him with equal fervour. "My friend...my love..."  
  
Remy broke from her, tilting her head back gently, his face still close to hers; two figures in the acid glow of a volcano's inferno coming from far down the passageway. He ran a thumb along her cheek bone, smudging the soot. "Ma l'amour..."  
  
This time there was no reason for hesitation, no doubt...Remy pressed his lips to hers and she came to him willingly, lost in him instantly. As he was in her. He parted her mouth and then drew his top lip over her bottom one, tasting it lightly, taking his time to savour his first true feel of her. He let go then, slowly, to take her whole mouth once more, lovely caressing it. She sighed into it and he took the gentle gust, drinking her in, her very essence; the rain, the winds, the lightening spark that caused fire. The kiss deepened and it burned between them.  
  
Ororo moved her hands up, sinking them into his hair, gripping at the thick tussle of his auburn locks; the soft spice of him mingled with the bitter- sweet salt of sweat, making her yearn for him more. They delved into each other; fierce and tender. For the first time this was truly real for her...the first time it was real for both of them...  
  
Slowly they broke apart, each taking one or two last hungry tastes until they rested; their foreheads leant against other in a steeple, hands hooked about each others necks, breaths panting. White light began to radiate from their left, the source unknown but enough to pull them back to the present. It came from the top of a set of steps that they hadn't even realised where there; so lost in each other, abandoned in solace and ardour. They turned their heads towards it as it appeared to grow brighter, all outside information falling to the peripheries; scent, sound, sensation...everything.  
  
Remy pulled back from her, his hand slipping down, absently clasping to one of Ororo's as he began to stand up, drawn by this unnatural aurora that sung without a voice. She allowed herself to be righted by him, apart from the light the only other thing to register in her mind being the clammy, reassuring grasp of his hand over hers. In a trance like state, they moved forwards as one, following the evanescent glow as it receded back, as if its sole purpose for existence was to beckon them to whatever awaited at the summit of the stairs.  
  
*  
  
The epicentre of the Temple of Yolocan-Uato...  
  
The light sunk back, low in the room, a sphere in the centre point. The vast power of a star, contained within its own universe here on earth. Remy and Ororo stepped into its domain, finally their wears coming back to them, their senses revived. As they came through the arching doorway wit the ridged jamb, directly opposite them was the face, the face of the keeper of the temple that they had witnessed from the outside but were now seeing from its inward indentation; the eyes opening out like windows onto the starry stretch of nocturnal blankness. It was funny; inside they felt as if they were a million miles away from this world, when death seemed immanent but all the while here it was, merely a walls width away. Even the rage of the volcano below and the tremor of its physical anger had vanished to their minds, though it still remained. Simply contained. But for how long? They had not the time to dwell.  
  
As they walked stiffly into the space there was nothing in this hollowed room save for themselves and the light that continued to fade yet somehow exude its luminosity, eventually revealing its secret to the adventurers. As it grew smaller and smaller, the sharp outline of several figures emerged from its consuming embrace; revealing their forms from the blinding white. The ridged lines showed them to be held in the same kind of immortal death state as the ones encountered hours ago on the streets of the captivating lost city. As the light pulled back further, like a receding the tides of the ocean, there were four of them in total. Caught in the dramatic stance of an anonymous history painting. Three were as utterly indistinguishable as the many soldiers that ran through the streets in their imperialistic terrorising, but there was one that appeared grander than these other mere plebs.  
  
Remy let go of Ororo's hand, stepping forwards toward the slim plinth that sat in the direct centre of the head of Yolocan-Uato. The great warrior goddess of the Yaitata'í People. Toward her heart, her essence he travelled, unawares. But he felt it as sure as anything. A rabid clamouring that rendered him helpless in her presence. Storm watched him go, wordless in recognition of the pull of what showed itself to be the simple humble semblance of a small box from beneath the white glow as with the sudden suck and *whoosh* of an implosion, the light was sucked into a vacuum. A simple dark box that's pattern mimicked the intricate design of the city that was built to contain and indeed worship it. That was all the earthly remnants that remained of an awesome power.  
  
Gambit was upon it now, looming over it; all light gone but still remaining to guide his way. The room was filled with it but it resonated from nowhere. The fourth figure was there---opposite the X-Man like an erstwhile chess opponent, defying him to make his move. Dressed in all the splendour of a General, the thick luxurious drape of his cape with its golden clasps at each shoulder obvious even in their ashen form, he stood, his hands on the box, held around each edge; his foolishness obvious, allowing Remy Etienne LeBeau, five hundred years later, to learn from his mistake.  
  
Harsh like the raging thrash of the Mississippi his breathing seemed, for it filled his senses as he reached down to the box that was no bigger than four inches by four, his devils orbs locked with the white death of this unknown invader. Such magnitude contained within such minutiae. He could feel it, couldn't help but lick his lips at the tantalising prospect of laying his hands upon it. The bead of salt ran, coursing down the contours, falling from the tip.  
  
They were near now, his hands, the black leather practically melted to them, a second tougher skin. Almost there, the vaunted prize his and for this moment his alone. Such grandeur---the Master Thief and his Ultimate Prize. He couldn't distinguish the sensation in him as that born of the thrill of acquisition or the burning that plagued him more now than it had previously. His lips parted, his tongue curled, held between two rows of straight white teeth, breath in stasis, frozen in his throat. Remy touched the box...  
  
"ARGH!"  
  
Like the jolt of a thousand bolts ripping through his system, Gambit was thrown forwards across the room, smashing through the ghost that confronted him and falling at the face of the idol of the temple. Stunned for a moment, he quickly righted himself into a sitting position and attempted to shake his head of the feeling, but it persisted. The savage flare that had nestled in the heat more pronounced than ever. For a moment he would have sworn it was the lava that had replaced his blood; the box a transfusion.  
  
Ororo didn't move in reaction to this, moreover the captivation of the object enough to entice her towards it; a strange lack of concern overcoming her for what had just happened. When she did move, she only vaguely noticed Remy stirring at the edge of her vision. But that small action made her stop---with all the will she had left to her, wrenching herself from the relic's power.  
  
"Remy? Are you okay?"  
  
Remy laughed wearily, his eyebrows creased as he pushed himself up further to lean against the wall properly, not slumped as he was. "Yah..." He shook his head vigorously, attempting to rid it of the wringing that persisted. "Sapristi!" For a reason unknown to the watching Storm, he brought his hands up before him, convinced he would see flames rising from their palms and finger tips. When he looked over their tops, moving his gaze slowly past them he was just in time to see Ororo advancing on the plinth. "What're yo' doin' girl?"  
  
Ororo looked over to him, her expression curious yet knowing, "What do you think?" She saw his mouth open sharply, ready to protest but too late. She closed her hands around the labyrinthine ridged darkness of the box.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Her fingers crept further around it until they touched each other around the back; encompassed in the sure cups of her palms. She looked up at Remy, taking her eyes from the box for a moment and smiled; instantly he recognised it. He knew the feelings coursing though her as sure as he was feeling them himself. It was true---they were the same creature; the thief at the heart of both of them. He returned the sentiment.  
  
"Huh!" He huffed mockingly, "De 'Red Sonja' effect, non?" Ororo gave him a confused look to which he waved an exhausted hand. "Not int' de Arnie back- catalogue, hien? Nevah mind."  
  
Ororo flicked her eyes to the heavens briefly; only Remy could entertain humour at such moments. Well, perhaps Bobby too. "Whatever 'effect' it is," She began, focusing on the box again as she readied herself to lift it, "It appears it is more favourable to my handling than yours."  
  
"Dat's exactly what I meant chère."  
  
Ignoring him, Storm leaned forwards into the plinth, holding the tense position of an animal about to make its escape. Remy pushed himself to his feet; still uncertain on them after his shock and even more so about Ororo's imminent actions. At first his body failed him; the inferno within him, bridling. He tried again and this time succeeded, taking hold of the concaved curve of the statues gracious lips as the dark cube was raised.  
  
An instant explosion. The pungent smell of sulphur.  
  
As soon as Ororo had removed the Carcoccia from its resting place the light that filled the room was extinguished as if doused with the flooding rains of the forest around them. All that had held it over the many years was finally knocked loose.  
  
"I fear we have removed the lynch-pin." Ororo conceded as she looked about her, as did Remy; the three still figures left crumbling as the whole building started to shake anew. Or maybe it had never ceased...  
  
Remy pushed himself forwards to relinquish the support of the wall and make his way over to her as she began to back away from the centre of the room; box firmly in hand, struggling to keep her balance as familiar reverberations racked the building. They knew immediately that it would not be standing for much longer, the force far greater, if that were indeed possible, than before. Whatever energy that resided within this box that they had removed was all that was keeping the stability of the temple at one with the force that raged beneath it, all that was containing it. What they had suffered below was simply a warning. They soon realised they had pushed matters too far...  
  
"We gotta get outta 'ere." Remy stated the obvious as the first cracks began to appear on the façade of the inside of the idols head. It would only be a matter of time before everything fell about and beneath them.  
  
*KKKRRASSHASASAKKKCRRRKK!*  
  
A large chunk of the forehead broke away and crashed to the ground on their right, the light grey stone scattering across the floor. Instantly Ororo knew what to do---fight or flight instincts rushing in, along with years of battle experience. And this, for all her mastery [sic] of nature, was a time of flight, in the truest sense of the word.  
  
"Hold onto me!" She told Remy; running over to him with the box safely clasped in her hands. As she met him, he wrapped his arms around her waist; a lover's sure embrace. But he almost reeled back; the box repelling him from her proximity. Never-the-less, he held onto her tight, fighting against the burn; the siphoning drain.  
  
Ororo's head titled back, her eyes the preternatural white of her powers and the slim tendrils of lightening sparked with the whip of psionically induced winds. The temple began to disintegrate in earnest by this time; gargantuan pieces of the head falling down; in on itself and outside, onto the city below. But Storm did not wait for an opening to be presented to her, she would not risk it. She took matters into her own hands, putting a great deal of effort into channelling the energy of a low pressure system passing above; unfortunately the removal of the cities time pocket had brought upon it all the natural pressures of the forest beyond its walls and the volcano's tree-swamped sloping sides. She found herself once again struggling with the tremendous and strong Amazon for control of the weather. But, gritting her teeth and with all her might, she managed it; making the pressure system collide with a warm slip stream from the west, coming in from the Pacific. A storm cloud brewed and as the winds she had summoned began to lift the pair from the ground, a spiked shard of electric blue lightening ripped through the ceiling, opening up for them an easy escape route.  
  
Beneath them the lava had become free to roam---no longer a 'mystical mistress' to keep it in check. The thick smoke and steam began to fill the likeness of Yolocan-Uato; the white-hot malt would not be far behind them. This time it would not be tame in its fervour, nor the destruction it would wreak...  
  
High, high, high and fast, Ororo raised them, out now on her winds into the warm air, the spit of rain beginning from her black cloud. The acuity of her powers focused everything within her for now; the insistent press of his body to hers, strong hands and muscular arms inspiring her to take them from danger. Like a shooting star, they left a visible jet stream in their wake.  
  
Only Remy had opportunity to look back on what they were fast leaving behind. Watching as the entire temple glowed through the spectrum, not just red and orange, but gold and yellow, blue, purple and everything in between.  
  
"I don' mean to hurry yo' girl, but I t'ink we bedduh high-tail it a bit quicker dan dis." Just as he bellowed this to her over nature's un- malicious rancour, the top finally broke; spewing forth the furious red into the air and in all other directions. The updraft of which collided with Storm's wind, knocking her out of control. She still tried, desperately, to hold on but it was of no use. The heat of the air rushing upwards sent them flying haphazardly into the night, flailing into chaos. Storm was able to keep her grip on Remy and the box as far as clearing the rim of the volcano; witnessing only fleetingly as the jet of lava flew up into the navy blue of the night sky that was rapidly filling with a thick grey cloud of smoke, lit from beneath with the fires. Pouring up in a painfully magnificent display, before flowing down, wiping out the buildings that had been preserved forever; the last to see them before the hot torrent took them away.  
  
They were over the volcano's edge now, coming down a little too quickly onto the canopy of the trees, spiralling down, almost completely in free- fall by now. But Storm managed to maintain control for long enough to at least soften the blow of their imminent landing, a five hundred foot descent, which would have otherwise killed them both. That did not mean though that it was smooth; almost as disastrous as expected as they smashed through the top layer off trees, breaking apart as they did so to fall to earth separately. They had absolutely no protection as branches whacked into them, going too fast to be able to catch hold of them and slow their rapid descent. Neither of them was aware of where the other was as they both crashed into the dark of the forest floor, though their minds were on each other and not themselves. As the impact happened they were not sure weather the blackness beneath the canopy was the terminal fold of death as their consciousness slipped away, mercifully before either of them felt the pain they knew was surely coming.  
  
* * *  
  
New Orleans, Louisiana...  
  
The unassuming black jeep came to a halt on the baron mud patch at the front of the small swamp side dwelling. As always the frogs croaked and the marshy land shimmered with minute activity; the sharp slam of the driver and passenger doors cutting through the sounds of wilderness in the New Orleans night. Jean-Luc LeBeau stood for a moment by the driver door he'd just climbed out of, looking at the ball of yellow light that spilled from the open porch screen door, splintering through the hanging ceramic beads.  
  
Thierry Mauvais stopped close to the porch, having quickly approached it, a short walk away. "What's wrong?" He asked impatiently as he turned to his leader, "Yo' comin' in or no'?"  
  
"Oui." He replied almost thoughtfully and then started over to the house, but as he neared his Chief Advisor he held a hand up to him as if to say stop, seeing that he was turning to enter, "Yo' wait out 'ere fo' a min'ue homme. Wait in de ride." He pushed back the screen door, the springs squealing in protest, "I'll call if I need yo'."  
  
Mauvais didn't bother to protest, simply turning on his heal and heading back for the jeep, grabbing hold of the top bar and climbing into it rather than opening the door, whilst a somewhat subdued Jean-Luc entered Tantie Mattie's home alone.  
  
*  
  
The thick intoxicating cooking aroma of Jambalaya filled the hallway of the small shack. The homely smell that wafted from the doorway at the far end, weaving with the ever-present musk of incense, making him feel comfortable as he always did when he came to see Mattie; memories of safer, maybe rose- tinted days recalled. But he was still on edge---the purpose of his visit wasn't going to sit well with her, he knew immediately. As far as his son was concerned there had always been and would always be a bone of contention between the two of them. Indeed, it had already driven a wedge between the pair, as well as Mattie and the Thieves Guild as a whole. This latest situation wasn't going to do too much to heal that ever widening rift. As he passed through the doorway he didn't pay too much attention to the photograph pinned to the wall, close to it. Not wanting to be reminded right now of happier and more innocent, carefree times for his son. The precocious but unbelievably skilled little scamp that was going to be the greatest thief the Guild had ever seen, an heir apparent to the LeBeau throne, even above Henri, his own flesh and blood.  
  
"I been wonderin' when yo' were gonna wing yaw way 'round 'ere Jean-Luc." As Jean-Luc entered the living room Tantie stepped out of the kitchen, emerging from a cloud of cooking steam, whipping her hands on the off-white cotton apron about her rotund waist. Her face had something of a red flush beneath the shinning ebony; clear to see as her thick mass of dreaded hair was pulled back into a pony tail at the nape of her neck. "Is he back yet?" She asked sternly, any lingering strand of friendship seemed to fade with each visit.  
  
Jean-Luc shook his head, "Non...we ain't 'eard nuhddin yet."  
  
"It been almos' a week Jean." She moved further into the room, going over to the antique set of draws with the bowing Queen Anne legs and opened the top one. Keeping a casual air to the meeting.  
  
"I know it Mattie."  
  
"Ain't yo' worried," She took out a box of thin red tapering candles, taking just one from the packet, "Or don' yo' care?"  
  
Jean-Luc's face darkened as he stared at Mattie, for a moment offended that she could think such a thing of him, "'Course I do mon amie," He practically spat out, instantly goaded into defensive posturing. She always had a way of cutting through his steely, well worked restrained exterior, making him show how he really felt---as close friends often did. Even when you didn't want them to. But he didn't know if he could class her as such any longer, not anymore..."Yo' know 'ow much dat li'll swamp rat means t' me Mat'."  
  
Mattie turned, glaring at him sharply, the jaundiced look of her wide eyes unsettling around the complete black of the irises. "Den why would yo' send him int' such danger? 'Cause it look t' me like yo' don' really care at all." She slammed the draw back shut, making the whole unit rattle against the wall.  
  
"Dat ain't fair Mat', 'e knows I do. But yo' of all people know de position I'm in---."  
  
"'He knows' does he?!" She shot back at him like an accusation, ignoring all else he had said. "Yo' might do bedduh t' remind him o' dat fact Jean. Yo' done nuhddin but hurt an' torment dat boy evah since yo' abandoned him."  
  
"Abandoned 'im?!" Jean-Luc was incredulous by now, pacing to the centre of the room and then back again with a shake of his head. "Remy was de one who turned is back on us, if I remember righ'. He turned is back on dis Guild, on 'is family, all fo' de teenage fancy o' some blonde Assassin skirt. I can't be held responsible if my son choose t' t'ink wit' de contents o' 'is trousers rather dan 'is head when he made 'is choice."  
  
Mattie felt her chest tighten with a rage she rarely felt, but she swallowed it down like the bitterest pill, doing a mental count to ten. She took in a shallow breath. "What about de contents o' his heart Jean," she said, offended by his complete lack of respect for Remy's feelings. "Or did the fact dat he loved Belle no' madduh?"  
  
Jean-Luc huffed, poking his tongue into the side of cheek, "Love?" He shook his head and raised a dark brown brow at her. "Yo' t'ink dose two li'll pip- squeaks even knew de meanin' o' de word?" He stopped for a moment taking in a breath before going over to the couch and perching on its edge. Clasping his hands together loosely between his parted knees as he leant forwards slightly. He spoke quietly as he continued; his dark eyes to the floor. "Dey was jus' kids Mat'---li'll kids. Pups. He couldn' see dat all I was tryin' t' do was protect 'im. A Poppa jus' tryin' t' stop his damn-fool boy from makin' de biggest mistake o' 'is life. But 'e was jus' too damn stubborn t' see dat. He was de one who choose de hard way---no' me." Finally he raised his gaze again, fixing his friend, "No' me..." He repeated.  
  
"Remy may have jus' been a kid Jean, but dat didn' stop yo' from treatin' him like an adult in de way dat yo' delivered yaw punishment, did it?"  
  
"Dose was Guild rules mon amie," He couldn't stop himself from pointing an angry finger at Mattie. "---'e broke dem, 'e paid de price." Suddenly calmed, he added quietly, the guilt shinning through no matter how hard he tried to cover it. "Like I said---de 'ard way."  
  
"I see, so yo' absolvin' yo'self all round den, hien?" Mattie shook her head at him in disbelief as she sat herself down on the easy chair opposite him; lowering herself carefully, as the joints in her swollen knees refused to yield lightly. They were always bad in the summer---especially at night. "So it was his fault de Guild cast him out on his own after givin' dem his everyt'in'---and de Guilds fault dat dey forced yaw hand in de madduh? Dear God, Jean-Luc LeBeau," It was her turn to show disbelief, "When are yo' gonna stand up an' take some responsibility fo' what yo' did t' yaw son's life?" She threw her hands up in the air, turning away from him like she didn't even care for what excuses he could muster up to defend himself, for as far as she was concerned, no reason in the world would be good enough. Standing up, she went over to one of the candles, fixed into a gleaming brass holder on the wall and touched the taper in her hand to its lively flame. She moved then, over to her small shrine table, lighting each one with the slim red stick of wax held in her hand. "Remy may 'ave turned out t' be a fine young man," She started with her back turned to him, "---a, good an' honourable young man, but dat ain't no t'anks t' yo'. He could 'ave destroyed himself over it---almos' did too, he made some bad decisions along de way---but he survived, he worked t'rough it. Found himself a life worth livin' fo' too. He don' need yo' an' dose men yo' choose t' call 'honourable' members o' de Thieves Guild t' mess dat up fo' him."  
  
"Do yo' t'ink dat's what I want?" He finally got a word in edgeways after she'd finished her rant against him, "Do yo' t'ink any o' dis is what I want? I know Xavier's dream 'as given 'im back some self-respect, some self- worth---de las' t'ing I want is t' ruin dat fo' 'im. Bu' my hands are tied 'ere Mat'---dere ain't nuhddin I can do 'bout dis."  
  
Mattie sighed impatiently as she lit the last candle of the bunch and then shook the taper quickly to extinguish its flame. "Dey may-well be, but yo' jus' bedduh pray t' de Lord dat de boy comes back safe. T'ings ain't quite rollin' his way like dey once were." She muttered the last bit, almost like she didn't want him to here but knowing that he would, causing Jean-Luc to give her a curious look.  
  
"What yo ' mean, 'ain't quite rollin' 'is way'?"  
  
Mattie placed the taper absently on the draw top with a light tap, looking at Jean-Luc over her shoulder, hesitating. Finally she turned to him fully, "Yo' mean Remy nevah tol' yo'?"  
  
"Tol' me what Mattie?" He ground out slowly, his drawl thick.  
  
It was too late to back-track now, but maybe it would do him good to know. "Remy ain't got his powers no more---he lost dem. I don' know how or when, but all I do know is dat...dey're gon'."  
  
Jean-Luc stood up, his eyes and mind far off. "Why didn' he say somet'in'?"  
  
"Perhaps he t'ought it wouldn' o' made a blind bit o difference." She countered somewhat snidely, surprising him a little. She headed back for the kitchen, shouting back over the bubbling of the Jambalaya on the stove, "Anyway, I'm sure yo' didn' drag yo'self all de way out 'ere jus' t' talk about de mistakes o' de past?"  
  
"Non," He replied as he went over to the kitchen doorway, making a hasty cross over himself as he passed the table, thankful that the well-treaded conversation was over, he stood at the edge as Mattie stirred the pot, "--- but I t'ink yo' know what I am 'ere fo'."  
  
She turned, banging the heavy wooden spoon on the rim of the pot to rid it of the excess before placing it down on the discoloured vinyl counter of the tiny room, next to the much-aged gas cooker. But she didn't look at Jean-Luc, her eyes travelled past him, focusing on something else. He turned, drawn to look at where she was.  
  
"Yo' asked her yet, homme?" His tall, sandy-haired companion stood behind him, close to the easy chair.  
  
"I t'ought I tol' yo' wait outside Thierry."  
  
"Well I got sick o' waitin'---yo' know it cooler inside dan out righ' now." Thierry rubbed a white handkerchief about the nape of his neck a few times as he spoke, soaking up the moisture.  
  
"'Ow long have yo' been standin' dere?"  
  
"Long enough," He stated somewhat cryptically, "Yo' asked her?" He repeated, deflecting Jean-Luc's attention.  
  
"I was jus' gettin' 'round t' it---fo' a thief yo' sure ain't got much patience."  
  
Thierry gave him a sardonic look but said nothing as he tucked the now marked handkerchief into the pocket at the hip of his Guild uniform, next to where his scabbard would have been placed had he been wearing it.  
  
Jean-Luc turned back to Mattie, for a moment he could have sworn he saw a scowl on her face. But that was nothing unusual; he'd always known that she didn't care too much for his Chief Advisor. She'd even tried to persuade him to change his mind on his choice when he first became the Patriarch of Clan LeBeau. But he'd been young and headstrong, perhaps thinking a little more sentimentally than pragmatically when he'd given the position to his best friend. There were perhaps ten other candidates that would have been more suited to the roll, but back then Jean-Luc listened to no-ones advise but his own. It had taken him years to give Mattie his ear faithfully, and when he had she became a valued member of the Clan, not just as their Priestess, but her opinions on the more practical matters had become indispensable too. But all that was a long time ago now---she'd drifted from the Guild for obvious reasons, though she was still bound to them. That's exactly why they were here now.  
  
"Mat', we need t' call upon yo' t' be dere when de Carcoccia is handed over."  
  
"Why?" She picked up the spoon from the counter, snatching at it in display of how relied they'd got her, intending to go back to her cooking.  
  
"Yaw de Guild's High Priestess, Mattie. O' course we need yo' t' be dere. Yaw de only one who 'as de knowledge on dis t'ing."  
  
"An' what makes yo' t'ink I know squat 'bout it?" She replied sternly before turning back to the cooker and plunging the spoon back in, stirring with exaggerated movements.  
  
"Don' try an' play us Mattie," Thierry cut in, "We know yo' can at least conjure a---a containin' spell should dis t'ing play holy hell. We need any guard we can against de possibility o' dem usin' it on our clan once dey got dere paws on it."  
  
"I guess dat's a risk yo' jus' gonna have t' take, 'cause Mattie ain't gettin' involved in dis," She shook her head, the beads banging on her back. "No Sir-rie!"  
  
"Look Mat'," Jean-Luc began, as diplomatically as he could, "Yo' swore an' oath o' loyalty to Clan LeBeau an' de Thieves Guild, yo' can't jus' pick an' choose when it suit yo', girl." He took a small step into the kitchen and even that was enough to have him almost on top of her, there was so little space. "So I'm gonna 'ask' yo' once again, as our High Priestess, will yo' be there t' fulfil yaw duty t' protect our Guild?"  
  
Mattie had long since stopped stirring the pot, but her hand gripped tensely to the spoon as below the sauce boiled and popped loudly, sending flushes of steam up into her face; little flicks of the sauce stinging at her lower arm. Finally she turned, just to face him over her shoulder, "An' if I refuse, Jean? What den?"  
  
"Well den yo' leave me no uddah choice." He said seriously, his timbre deep and steady as he absently shifted his weight. "As de Patriarch I would have t' pass de Official Decree over yo'---one way or de uddah, yaw gonna be dere." An air of a stand-off passed between them, until Jean-Luc began to move away, heading back out the door. "Dat's not de way I want it Mat', but I got mor' responsibilities dan preservin' what's left o' our friendship. I got de lives o' hundreds---all o' dem countin' on me t' do what's right by dem. Countin' on me t' protect dem." He didn't stop in his stride over to the lounge exit as he called back, "I only hope yo' come t' de righ' decision---fo' all o' us." Thierry was close behind, leaving Tantie Mattie to her conscience.  
  
* * *  
  
The Amazon, outside of Naroapa Impokiro...  
  
There were no sounds of explosions, no red cloud, no invasive stench. All was blank, cold and wet. Ororo tried to move but for a moment found that she was unable to, her arms and legs splayed into uneasy positions. She felt hard, random surfaces prodding into the front of her body from underneath, only slowly coming to the realisation that they were rocks. And that odd feeling, the fast flutter over her left arm that was rapidly turning it numb, she eventually came to understand that it was running water. It made her feel a rare chill. Prying her eyes open, the first few attempts proving abortive, she could just make out the faint glimmer on the surface of the stream as it rolled over the rocks and her out flung limb. Pulling her head up from the cushion of moss that had served as her pillow, she was thankful that she could not have come down that hard.  
  
Gradually sensation returned, although her limbs still felt weak, like she'd been put through a wringer...one hundred times over. Pushing herself up onto her hands and knees, she began to adjust her eyes to the darkness; holding her body still for a moment to make sure she would be steady when she stood, checking for broken bones as much as she could. Nothing felt seriously damaged and she'd had enough experience with serious damage to know, but she'd certainly suffered some server bangs on her hasty decent. A noise?---she was soon broken from her musing, her head snapping up to look into the darkness when a strangled groan broke through the forest sounds.  
  
"Remy?"  
  
The strangled sound came again, more of a splutter, but this time she was prepared for it and concentrating, getting a swift lock on where it was coming from. Carefully Ororo moved towards it, making her way practically blindly over the slippery and awkward rocks. But on her way her foot kicked against something that moved far too easily for it to have been one on of the weightier boulders. It seemed hollow and not quite as substantial as everything else around her. As her eyes became keen to the sombre light, she could just about make out the edge of it. It was the box. Tentatively she kneeled to pick it up, hoping against hope that it had not been damaged upon impact. Wet, slightly shaking hands clasped around it, feeling at the distinctive ridges and she found herself holding her breath as she lifted it from the bank of the stream; its fairly insubstantial weight hiding its significance.  
  
"'Roro..."  
  
"I am here Remy." She called out to him, clutching the box even closer to her chest as she moved steadily towards his voice, slicing through dark like a hot knife through butter.  
  
*  
  
Remy dragged himself forwards, practically lolloping, just about managing to stand upright but his right leg was lame and heavy like a dead weight. It caught on everything as he tried to walk, supporting his stance by grabbing blindly at anything in front of him, heaving his boy forwards with it. He could hear a frantic splashing, heading towards him and was eternally grateful for he was very nearly at the point of collapse. It wasn't so much the falling to earth; apart from the leg he had escaped miraculously without serious injury, just cuts and bruises. Not that they told much over the top of the patch work of battery that was his skin at the moment. But he still felt drained from his contact with the box, as if he were in the grips of a ferocious fever.  
  
"Stormy...I'm 'ere." The black shadow of Ororo's silhouette began to distinguish itself to him before he collapsed to his knees, unable to support himself any more; the sensation suddenly a damn sight worse. He grabbed hold of something, flinging his left arm out and grabbing the large curving root of a tree, exposed by the elements and eroding forest floor. His head bowed as his breathing became shallow and quicker.  
  
Ororo sort him out finally, discerning his figure kneeling at the foot of a tree. "Are you hurt?" She asked immediately as she fairly flopped down onto her knees in front of him, setting the box to the side momentarily. Softly she took his face in her hands, pulling it back up; being able to make out the two burning circles of crimson, demon's flames. "Remy, are you hurt?" She repeated; her majestic voice as tender as he'd ever heard it.  
  
"Remy's alrigh'---it jus' my leg. But do me a favour, hien?" He laughed shortly as he fell down to his haunches, almost falling back completely were it not for Ororo's hold on him, forcing her to come forwards.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Get dat t'ing away from me." It had been coming from the box all along. With his wry sense of humour, the wily ol' Cajun couldn't help but see the irony in that.  
  
"Get what---the Carcoccia?" She glanced down at it by her knees and then back at Remy, who simply nodded in confirmation, his heavy lids closing, almost too weak for words. Then, inevitably, he did collapse down, finding it unbearable as he slumped forwards into Ororo's arms, a maelstrom coursing through him.  
  
Storm caught Remy to her, falling back against the bank of the stream as she held him. She pulled her arms tighter about him, cradling the back of his head in her hands as he lay against her breast, not sure if he was still conscious or not. They were in deep trouble and she knew it. Closing her azure eyes she leant her head back against the root Remy had formally been holding onto. No maps, no supplies, not even the basics---just the clothes on their backs. Days away from 'civilisation'...Superheroes or not, they were in it up to their necks.  
  
* * *  
  
Sometime later...  
  
It was early morning but the unusual below-canopy dark still persisted. Her whole body screamed at her to stop but she would not yield to its plea, forging on with the practically dead weight of her comrade on one side and the awkward shape of the very relic they'd risked so much for, tucked under her other arm. Remy was trying, she had to give him that but he was almost unconscious again and she didn't want to have to resort to dragging him along. Her energy was zapped enough.  
  
"Jus' leave me..." She heard him half mumble for the umpteenth time---each time he said it she simply readjusted her hold on him, gripping him tighter as his arm slunk loosely across her back, his hand hanging limp over her opposite shoulder. She tried to quicken their pace, not sure where they were heading, just constantly moving, that was all that mattered. For she knew if she were to stop, she would drop. Ororo had pushed herself to the limit many a time before but now she was so far past it that it wasn't even on the horizon any more. What was it long distance runners harped on about when talking about endurance? Hitting a wall? If Ororo had hit that and gotten through it, it must have been forged from damn adamantium.  
  
In the back of her mind she knew all it would take would be a simple thought, a mental distress beckon but she had not the strength needed to send it. But perhaps it wasn't just that, perhaps pride came into it somewhere too. She couldn't bring herself to call upon the X-Men to help her...not yet. Things would have to get much worse before she would capitulate. But her energy ebbed and waned as she stumbled on; practically resorting to throwing their weight forwards with each quick step, only to almost fall, rest for a moment, before repeating the process again. This couldn't go on much longer...How much worse would things have to get?  
  
"Hold on for me Remy...please..." She pleaded almost silently as she faced yet another literal wall of Terre Verte flowing upwards; no end in sight to their onward march. The cold water of the stream lashed at their legs as they skirted its edge, occasionally swaying into it as they followed it along in the vain hope it would lead them to somewhere...anywhere...  
  
"Huurrooff!" Ororo's foot slipped, throwing them off balance. She tried her best to stop them from falling but her body was simply too weak. The strain finally told; as they tumbled towards earth, coming to an undignified stop in the cool mud tinged water.  
  
"I tol' you 'Ro...get yo'self outta 'ere..." His face lay almost half submerged in the lapping rolls of water as he opened his eyes long enough to see Storm struggling to get to her feet, only just being able to get onto her hands and knees. She shook her head defiantly, the chocolaty water dripping from her.  
  
"Remy," She half gasped as she tried to pull them back to their feet, "If we can hold our own against the likes of Apocalypse and Galactus, why should something as 'trivial' as this be the end of us?---Ahh!" They fell back down again; Ororo dropping both Remy and the box. She was on her knees, breathing in heavy and shattered, her chest heaving as she tilted her face to the skies. "By the Goddess...please help us..." Her eyelids slid slowly down as she felt all hope and reason running away fast like the waters around them. She had to try to reach the Institute, even if it meant passing out from the effort. "Professor..." She whispered weakly, letting out an equally tired laugh lest she cry instead. All beneath her eyelids suddenly blazoned red, as if the sun was rising and she was staring directly into its emerging face. She could feel herself smile as it grew brighter, her mind not registering why. A sign of anything, anything at all would have helped her spirit by now; a soul not accustomed to defeat almost wanted to throw in the towel.  
  
A soft chug began, somewhere far away, light and plumy, making Ororo's distracted mind focus in on it. Then a distant grumble, distinct from all else the forest had to offer. She let her head drop, her eyes opening as a concentrated air came over her face, her brow furrowing. Suddenly she sprung to her feet, finding the will from where she knew not. That sound, that sound was mechanical...  
  
As she scrambled up to the incline close to them, falling several times as she frantically clawed her way up it the light that had flowed over the bank and down onto them in the stream lit up everything like a car head- light. One last pull and she was at the top; the cause of the muddy sediment in the water down where Remy still lay, teetering on the edge, clear to her now.  
  
She found herself at the edge of a river, the light coming down its broad milkshake stretch that chopped in the wake of intrusion. With relief, but mainly diminished energy, Ororo fell down, one hand held up just about.  
  
"Help..." She had no idea whether she mouthed the word or spoke it, let alone shouted it as the beam became an unfocused splotch in her vision, finally blanking out as it came too near, or she passed out...  
  
-TBC- 


	13. Chapter13

Disclaimer: I don't own the lyrics to Bob (Poet Genius!) Dylan's song, 'Just Like a Woman.'  
  
Thank-you to Rat, girlonthem00, Koala-chan, turtle dove, LeochicX and The Frumious Bandersnatch!  
  
A/N; The Notre Dame Cemetery is a figment of this author's imagination as is the Palais Napoleon on Bourbon Street. The names of the Jazz musicians mentioned were found in M. Ondaatje's novel 'Coming Through Slaughter'.  
  
= Translated from Hispanic  
  
Chapter.13.  
  
New Orleans, Louisiana. Four days later...  
  
The carnival was in full swing, rapturous and unrelenting; what Ororo had witnessed just over seven days ago was nothing compared to the explosive cavalcade she was peering down upon now. The flat metal slats of the slightly warped Venetian blind where open to their full extent, allowing the red acid spill of a flickering neon Budweiser sign to light the room, coming in to cover everything with thick crimson lines. It cut like thick laser lights through the warm, brown dimness of the moderately sized space. Ororo watched, with the steady dispassionate gaze of her cool blue eyes as the throng of the parade passed three stories below the tenement building that she and Remy where now holed up in since their arrival back in the Big Easy that afternoon. It was one of two 'safe-houses' that Remy had retained since his expulsion from the Guild and by extension the city, precisely for unlikely situations such as this. The other was on Bellville St, over the river in Algíers, a little more out of the way than this one, The Palais Napoleon, right in the heart of the French Quarter, on Bourbon St. A prime, if a little unsafe, location.  
  
The dumb rhythm of the players pulsed through the walls of the old building, so much so that Ororo could feel its syncopation battering dully into her bear soles. It nearly implored her to pat them in time against the fuzz of the carpet. She was only stopped by the rustling interference of a conflicting tune, pouring in with a coating of soft static from an antique radio sat on the bureau against the far wall...  
  
'...She takes, just like a woman,  
  
Yes she does.  
  
She makes love, just like a woman,  
  
Yes she does.  
  
And she aches, just like a woman  
  
But she breaks, just like a little girl...'  
  
Ororo turned from the window, to an extent blocking out the noise that flowed up from the street as she absently felt at her side, through the thick denim shirt that covered her sublimely, perfectly; the only item she had on after her shower. There was certainly still a tenderness there, where the branch had cracked into her rib, as there was on various other parts of her body that had suffered abrasions recently but having had the chance to recuperate, they weren't any where near as bad as they could have been.  
  
They'd been lucky---damn lucky---even Remy had enough humility to admit that much. If it hadn't have been for their chance meeting with that boat on the Xingu, they'd have left their bodies in the rainforest. There was no denying that. The 'Rosie Celesta', as it sailed innocently down the expanse of the muddy river, had only just spotted the limp figure of a woman, slumped down in the silt, her short shock of white hair a beacon for them to follow. If it hadn't have been for that, they'd probably have sailed right past her; only by chance did the strong beam of their prow light glint against her platinum strands. Storm's attempt at a cry of help had certainly not been heard at all.  
  
The boat's crew, made up of forest natives and biological researchers, the likes of which swarmed around that impressive place like the hoards of flies and bugs within it, had charitably taken good care of them. Using their collective knowledge on native remedies for their physical wounds and Remy's inexplicable fever, they'd helped them restore their strength as they headed gradually up the calm river, that turned every colour from bright sap green to the coyest of pinks, for the city of São Félix. They'd given them a cover story of course for why they where there and in such a state on discovery, knowing that the Professor-of-such-and-such university wouldn't work on them. A fairly tight-knit group of people as they were. Instead they'd painted themselves as adventure tourists, not uncommon in that part of the world. A convenient story had been weaved, the details of which were too pedestrian to repeat. But the box, the box had been explained simply as a trinket, bartered for on an encounter with a local tribe. Day's had past with the frustrating speed of a dismal Sunday, in extremely uncomfortable fortitude, but once they were sufficiently returned to health, they arrived without incident at the small city in the North of the Xingu region and found themselves able to 'hire' a light air craft to get back to Santa Maria das Barreiras, where the X-Jet awaited them. The creativity of desperation in the past had bode well for them both. As it had turned out, the God's had been smiling down on them once more and there was no situation that they would not eventually surmount.  
  
So four days after they had obtained what they had risked life and limb for, they were back now, here in New Orleans, where the summer carnival was at full tilt and the hazy August dragged callously on like the last drunken party guest that resolutely refused to leave.  
  
The hard drive of the high powered shower was nothing more than back ground noise as Ororo moved over to the double bed in the centre of the room that was decked with only the essentials; the bureau, bed, a wardrobe and a tiny bathroom---no hint of personalisation, no superfluous items necessary for comfort. The whirl of a creaky fan added to the ambiance as Storm sat down on the bed, crossing her long bare legs over one another as she took up the thin toothed black comb she'd previously abandoned and started to run it through her hair. Not that it really needed it, she had combed it to death already but she found the action cathartic, the scrape of the teeth like a massage on her scalp, leaving distinct separate tracks in its warm dampness. A sensation she could enjoy now that her locks were no longer quiet as plentiful, though she noticed they had grown somewhat even in the past week; the back reaching down to the base of her neck whilst her fringe had to be flicked to the side, the evidence of the slight kink within its growth obvious. Maybe she'd get it trimmed once they were back in New York...maybe she wouldn't.  
  
It was nice to have such trivial concerns after the chaos of the last week, and that wasn't only this 'misadventure' they'd been sent on. They had almost not come back from it, that was true, but they'd 'almost' not survived a thousand other jaunts too, funnily enough it came with the territory when your gig was being a superhero. But to have failed on this one would have been a travesty. If she'd have lost Remy back there, there would have been no word with which to categorise her devastation...She shook her head as if to toss something loose. She couldn't let this rule her mind any longer. 'What if's' were no good to anyone, they would drive her insane and so was resolute to stop.  
  
'...and she aches, just like a woman...'  
  
She had fallen in love with him. There was nothing else for it. Of all the people in the world...  
  
There was no other explanation or reason for it. Of course, she had always 'loved' him but it was something much more to be 'in love' with him. It was funny, that it had taken something so extreme to make her realise that that was what was going on; a gradual process that had none-the-less jumped up on her like a stalking tiger. The absolute last thing in the world that she had ever expected to happen...the last thing. How long had such a thing been stirring? She had never been one to take love, the passion of a lover lightly, and gave it even more sparsely and always, unfortunately, to her detriment. Falling for a smooth talking, sleek limbed Cajun charmer wasn't exactly the smartest move on her part, she thought wryly and sighed. But then, this was Remy; everything he was to people on the outside was nothing of what he was to her. Her best friend, her soul-mate, her comfort blanket when all else around her leaned on her for support, guidance and leadership...her lover?  
  
Perhaps.  
  
This was going to take Ororo Munroe, Mistress of Chronic Emotional Repression, some time to adjust to. A lot of time in fact...  
  
She heard the shower clank to a halt, the high pitched beep of the off button ringing through. Her hand halted on her head and she brought the comb down halfway through its trek back, resting it for a moment in her lap before placing it back down onto the plain cotton sheet of the bed. She fixed her eyes on the white silk sheen of the bathroom door, the condensation of hot air clinging to it like a perspiring layer, as above the old wood framed fan with the latticed blades creaked around again and again and again...  
  
*  
  
Remy pulled his jeans on even though his skin was still a little damp. He pushed in the button above the zip and when he let them drop noticed that they hung quite low on his hips. He must have lost a little weight over the last week---or since he'd last used this place as a refuge, which had to be going on for three years now. The last time he'd seen his father in fact, before unexpected recent events. He tousled his hair with his hands, spraying water everywhere, sprinkler-like, not bothering to towel it dry. Rather he let it drip where it would. He was about to leave the room when he felt the furtive ripple of another jolt, sparking along with the rush of his blood. His hands scrunched into fists in an attempt to staunch the feeling that had been coming in waves ever since the initial fever had lifted. Being the stubborn man he was he'd said nothing of this to Ororo, or anyone else, least of all the people that had helped them to safety. It wasn't as if it was something he didn't recognise...  
  
Taking in a deep breath he waited for a moment, lids loosely down, to let it pass, for he knew that it would. The fast hiss, the staunching of a sulphurous match in a puddle and it was gone. He swallowed down, the sudden excess of saliva sticky. Tentatively he reached up to grab the yellowed cord of the bathroom light, gave it a quick yet forceful tug and entered the main room, grabbing up a fresh towel and the small battery razor from the mirror shelf as he went. Leaving all thoughts behind him.  
  
*  
  
The tune plonking its way indolently from the metal grate on the front of the radio had changed now, skipping through the folk to the intricate weaving of jazz notes emerging from it as if bubbling up from the bottom of the swamp, transporting them through time to poor ramparts and slick hustlers on river steamers. Remy listened for a moment, just inside the door jamb of the bathroom, taking his time before he ventured to shift his gaze to Ororo as she sat on his bed, her long athletic legs free, one of his old shirts clinging over her curves, draped like the finest silk simply by virtue.  
  
With a deft flick another noise entered the fray, the soft constant buzz of jostling blades inside the silver mesh head of his travel razor. Quickly and with no apparent rhyme or reason he ran the handy appliance over the thick growth that consumed his chin, cheeks and the top parts of his neck; revealing lighter patches of skin randomly until the whiteness of the porous material of the towel about his neck and shoulders was pebble-dashed with dark specs, like tiny bugs nesting, at some points gathering in thick clumps. Like a light bursting on to banish the black of a room he recognised the splintered old tune.  
  
"'Since Mah Bes' Girl turned me Down.'---Bix Beiderbecke an' 'is Gang." He said with a note of triumph; his head cocked slightly as he listened, turning the razor off and tossing it down onto the bureau carelessly.  
  
"And the year?" Ororo asked unexpectedly, genuinely curious as the recording was aged, blips and scratches strangely adding to its authenticity and character as one would expect, drawing Remy's attention away from the radio and the suddenly jaunty turn of the tune flowing from it.  
  
"Nineteen...Twen'y Seven." He answered confidently without pause as he sauntered further into the room. Quickly he ruffled the black-speckled towel through his hair, not bothering to rid it of the stubble first. Such was his ungainly scruffiness at times, endearing as it was, it could not be doubted. He grazed a hand over the recently shaved area that retained the subtle buzz from the vibration of the razor; the whole bottom half of his face, free from the bristle as it was, still retained a greyish shadow as it always did. "Now dis," He started, jabbing an enthusiastic finger in the direction of the old radio, "DIS is what yo' call real music---de ol' Masonic on Perdido an' Rampart. Dat's where it really used t' kick it---all de greats played dere in their day." He dropped his head down, the top half of his body at an angle with the floor as the towel rubbed swiftly, more violently, muffling his words somewhat as he recanted names of men long gone, legends in their day. "Freddie Keppard, John Robichaux, 'Buddy' Bolden. You mention dem t' anyone in dis town, an' dey'll tell yo' some tales." He smiled as if at some private, amusing thought when his hands seemed to freeze, his attention caught; a sudden stop as he noticed something. The grey satchel sat, slumped in the corner of the room, looking totally innocuous. Its buckles loosely done up, it's lazily shape showing no indication of what it held inside.  
  
Ororo turned and followed the line of his vision; even though she had had her back to him, she could sense something odd about his abrupt silence. Drawing in a breath to ask, it stilled when it fell upon the bag. She didn't need to. Instead she stood from the bed again, taking the comb with her and languidly drawing it through her hair once more with distracting charm. It was enough to take Remy's eyes and thoughts away from the contents of the bag and onto her. He let the towel slink back down around his neck for a moment before letting it slip to the floor randomly. He'd never been what one would call house-proud to add to everything else.  
  
"So," Ororo started as she came to the window, "Have you decided?" She asked as she turned to face him, resting casually against the smooth sill.  
  
Remy glanced back at the bag, "To be honest chère," He quickly faced her once more, "I ain't t'ought 'bout it too much."  
  
"Not that it is important or anything." She raised a sharply caustic eyebrow as she crossed her arms over her chest, off-handily waving the comb to the side, holding it aloft.  
  
"Now don' be sarcastic Stormy," He grinned, "It don' suit you."  
  
Ororo shook her head, a look of exasperation marking her features. Not in a good way either. "Do not try to dodge the subject."  
  
"Who's dodgin'?" Remy splayed his hands and shrugged his shoulders in pretence of innocence.  
  
"Do not play games Remy," She suddenly looked concerned, shifting her gaze to the floor as she unlocked her arms, placing her hands on the flat of the sill behind her; her head slightly bowed. "This is serious," She jerked up to look at him; eyes sparkling like ice in the glint of an unhindered sun, "---just look what it has done to you, it---."  
  
"It ain't done nuhddin'." He cut in, taking on a sharpened harsh tone; his demeanour changing in an instant.  
  
"Nothing?" Ororo was almost incredulous, "You can barely go near the thing-- -."  
  
"It been gettin' bedduh---I don' feel it so much now." He willed the sensation in his hands to mute, imagined dipping them in a pool of fresh, cool water. If he could think it away it would go. He tried his best to convince himself.  
  
"You may be able to lie with the best of them Remy LeBeau but they do not work with me---I know you too well."  
  
"Mores de pity." He mumbled and then flashed her a crocked, hopefully appeasing smile. "I didn' mean---."  
  
"I know what you meant Remy." She pre-empted shortly, her stately aloofness creeping back in; her glare sedated but a glare none-the-less. Quickly she glanced down at the floor before a flicker of emotion over-came her and turned to face the window once more, taking up her previous position. "For everything we have been through, and all my intimate knowledge...at times it feels as though I do not know the first thing about you. All the trust given unquestioningly, and sometimes..." That fact hurt all the more now. But what happened back there, it wasn't one way traffic...  
  
"Oh yah, I fo'got---yo' de mos' open person I evah met." Remy shot back bitingly, instantly regretting his sudden flash of temper. But he was thankful that she didn't bother to respond. "Dis is crazy," He hissed to himself through a sucked in breath, giving a disappointed shake of his head. An argument, the direction this conversation was in free-fall towards, was not what he wanted. He gazed over at her; the red light catching her full on so that her sable skin glowed with it, basked in it. He found himself holding onto the top bar of the bedstead to his left, as if were he to let go his knees would buckle, sending him crashing down. Resistance was futile, he acknowledged painfully. He had to go to her--- behaving like this...it was simply pointless. If she pushed him away then it was a risk he was willing to take. But he had to know if this sudden whirlwind was just that and would cease as quickly as it came. A connection more attuned than anything he had ever known passed between them in that temple, when they had aided each other to cheat a certain death. Whatever happened after tonight, he had to know...  
  
Ororo tossing the redundant comb down and lent on the window sill, not so much watching the revellers this time around as running her eyes over the rusty balustrade that ran around the tenements small balcony; the street signs and metal plated adverts, like printers original sheets that were bleached from the sun, rendering them in pastel colours; ghosts of their former glory through the rain of ticker tape. The sky was turning purplish blue over the clouding haze of street and carnival lights, strewn on cables above the partiers, styled like Chinese paper lamps in green purple and gold. The tread on the carpet told her that he was coming to her long before the feel of his hands, cupping gently over her hips and the return of the stale cigarette scent from the couple he'd had before his shower; bitter tobacco, in its devouring opaqueness. Blankly, she continued to stare out at the street but registered nothing, letting her hands fall down to cover his as they sat as heavy as lead. A welcome weight.  
  
Remy lent his now fairly smooth chin on her shoulder, finding a home in the curve, naturally letting his body press to hers, thankful that she did try to pull away. The frisson hit him immediately, the wanton ache that flowed from her to him and back again; this building need indescribable and undeniable. What had changed over the last week neither could say, or be sure, but something certainly had... "I'm sorry chère---but if yo' ain't noticed, Remy's stuck between a rock an' a 'ard place righ' now. I didn' mean t' be a dick." His lips came up close to her ear, breath whistled past, "Forgive me?"  
  
"It is okay." She offered gently; recent events---of all kinds---had taken their toll on them both. Remy shifted his hands on her hips slightly, ruffling her shirt; the jutting bone telling beneath his fingers. They moved as if they were about to attempt to lift the thin denim material, but stopped just short, remaining where they were.  
  
"How long will we have to stay here?" Ororo asked, focusing her mind, bringing a semblance of normality to the proceedings; though it didn't escape Remy that the question had a note of breathiness in it somewhere. She squeezed her hands over his as if urging them to travel without wanting to say so, wanting them to pick up where he'd backed off; letting him know that it was okay. Forget needing time to fathom this, she was lost in it here and now, on a sultry night in New Orleans. His fingers moved softly but still refused to act.  
  
"Until we decide what we gon' do," He said quietly, urging control from somewhere as he finally saw fit to answer her; tobacco warmth stirring against her soft cocoa neck. The witch was tempting him too much... "Or, 'til dey come lookin' fo' us. It won't take dem long t' finger out dat we back in town." He was correct in his former presumption, he couldn't resist this. Now that he was holding her again, openly basking in her presence like never before, he didn't think he'd ever be able to let go again; his hands expressing a possessive mania all of their own. He never wanted to let go...ever. That rain perfume was still there with the sandalwood and the more clinical scent of soap as he brushed his lips up her neck, inhaling in at the same time. Everything about her held him in her sway. "Mon Dieu girl." He sighed just beneath her ear as if in discomfort mixed with a kind of bitter-sweet disbelief. "Tell me you wan' dis as much as I do..." He pressed his lips lightly to her skin, feeling the shudder, relishing it. "Please..."  
  
Ororo found herself dizzy with the pounding beat from the frantic musicians playing below and the sensuous creep of his hands down past her hips, quickly finding their way to the thick hem of the denim shirt. Unconscionable was she by this time for that's where she left them, moving her own to grip at the sill of the window as she let herself be lost in his attentions. The comb knocked to the floor, unnoticed. It had to be admitted that they hadn't shared so much as a touch since their longing affirmation after escaping death. But now felt as good a time as any to pick up from where they'd left off...His plea swam through her head as sweet as any music around them, that assaulted from all angles and she yearned for his hands to reach up from where they currently lay, resisting their desire to ride underneath her shirt, higher up her legs. But she couldn't resist the urge to part her long lithe limbs, just a little. "Remy...I think you know the answer to that already. Because if you do not by now, then you are a fool..." She felt his soft breathless laugh on her neck followed by the brief graze of his teeth, prompting her to reach behind her and sink one hand into his still wet locks, letting the cool drips cover her palm. At that moment, this precise point in time she knew for sure; there was no way on earth that this was the deep set ice of too long alone. Cheap thrills and the fleeting touch of a lover could be found anywhere; close friendships were not jeopardised on such trivial things. Especially one that had endured so much...too much.  
  
"Mebbe I am a fool..." He murmured in lust un-contented, "Fo' ignorin' you dese las' few months...chèrie." The tender name was practically growled through his huskiness into her delicately crafted lobe as he took heart enough to push up the edge of the shirt, damp, water-soft hands riding along the dark amber skin, stuttering up as they stuck in traction.  
  
Ororo rested one leg on tip-toe, letting it fall to the side like a gate on hinges as a clever hand moved inwards. She caught the gasp on the tip of her tongue, lightly resting between two sets of pristine teeth; almost biting down onto it. Trumpets jostled with each other in the background; piercing in maddening desire. With a flowing manoeuvre she turned around to face him; his hands slipping back up to the outside of her thighs, gliding up briefly to slide over her bare buttocks and then back down again. Her hands linked roughly at the back of his head, pulling at his hair as he yanked her legs further apart and simultaneously lifted her, pushing further into her domain as he sat her on the warm plastic of the window sill at her back, making her gasp with fear and anticipation of the unknown.  
  
She found herself smiling as they held that position, still as statues for a moment apart from heaving chests, the rush overpowering for both of them as their eyes locked. The red of the neon sign outside made the solid black of Gambit's orbs into a swirl of colour, set against the ruby jewel in their centres that were lit like the fierceness of hot coals. In the pull of passion their lips crushed together; their kiss rabid and full. She hooked her long legs up, above his hips, locking them about his waist.  
  
"Remy..." She rasped, her voice broken as for a moment their lips parted, only to join again ardently, desperately. All the longing in that rendition of his name provoked him forwards; his fingers digging into her thighs as they clenched at the touch, muscles tensed.  
  
"Say it 'Ro..." He shuddered a breath close to her mouth, catching them again in a kiss because he could not help but, "I wanna 'ere yo' say you want me...dat's all I need t' hear..."  
  
Ororo closed her eyes as she tasted the bitter leaves, her head tilted as she smiled again against his lips, letting him feel it. She unlocked her hands, instead wrapping her arms completely around his neck, weaving them over one another in the infallibility of a lover's embrace. With a slow roll of her hips, she intoned, with a quiet vividness, "I want this...I want you, Remy...I want you so much, you have no idea..."  
  
"Oh I t'ink I do 'Ro...I t'ink I do..." The unbridled zeal of his building passion passed through him as he kissed her hard; that sunrise in his mind again; the swamp morning bright, clear as if it were before him now. But this time there would be no walking away.  
  
* * *  
  
A crypt in the Notre Dame Cemetery, the outskirts of the New Orleans Bayou...  
  
Cross legged and back crooked over; Señor Pedro Velasquez Lopez sat on the ground, staring obliquely ahead of him through single vision. The small velvet covered cushion beneath saved him from the uncomfortable severity of the hard ground, though many of his deputies weren't quite so lucky. There were seven of them with his currently, sat either side of him, poker- straight and as stoic as one would expect when faced with a full 'battalion' of New Orleans foot soldiers behind and in front of them. It had been a conspicuous choice for Jean-Luc to decide that the central crypt of Notre Dame cemetery, one of New Orleans many 'cities of the dead', the final resting place of generations of the LeBeau clan, would be an ideal place to hand over the coveted Carcoccia.  
  
There was undeniably a sense of intimidation here, even Lopez couldn't dispute that; the lines of stone caskets emitting an air of ancestral respect that the rival clan couldn't ignore. They had certainly set out to go trough with this with as much dignity as they could muster. Lopez and his ilk had to begrudgingly profess admiration for their guile. All about them lay their past dead, two uniform rows lining the thick walls that for all their sturdiness had at last succumb to the invading moisture of the surrounding swamp; gleaning in random patches as it coursed down the brickwork, patterns of green algae. The whole structure was on a slight tilt in fact, the left side subsiding into the unsteady earth, the sponge- like ground reclaiming it, swallowing it bit by bit, year by year. One day, none of this would remain.  
  
He cast his one good eye slowly over the horizontal stone figures, atop of their solid coffins---in death as they never were in life; their grandeur posthumously granted. As it was with all figures of supposed veneration. Gradually his careful gaze fell on the large opening at the far end of the candle lit room, whereon a young dark featured woman appeared in his eye line. She waited, close to but not resting on the sturdy doorjamb; simply waiting for instruction, her hands folded in an obedient, subservient manner in front of her. The signal passed so swiftly as not to be discernable; a quick glimmer, a fleeting twitch told her to leave. She was not needed here anymore and was more than happy to oblige to his wish that she make herself scares. Take word outside is what was passed. And so she would.  
  
As she disappeared into the blackness of the space beyond, Lopez thought of her no more, turning back to gaze distractedly ahead of him; a dry discreet cough shattering the quiet, coming from somewhere on his left hand side; its origin indeterminate. Absently he stroked at his bristly greying beard; running the leather through with a scratching sound, wondering how long they would have to be here. It had taken him no time at all to organise the mass excursion when he had received word to get to New Orleans post-haste; the message having been communicated that Gambit and his weather manipulating companion had been spotted in São Félix---looking rather worse for ware---two days ago. Jean-Luc had been---surprised---to say the least that Lopez and several of his flunkies, his entire inner circle in fact, even his despised older brother, had unexpectedly arrived in the city. Though he was even more suspicious that they had come alone and none of the representatives of the other Guilds involved in this debacle had yet to show themselves. But Lopez had his reasons and was not in that much of a hurry to put LeBeau's mind at rest.  
  
An hour-glass sat at the top end of the crypt, behind the place that would be graced by Jean-Luc's 'privy council'; the golden sand slipping in its measured journey through the slim eyelet of space between to bell masses. The massive object that denoted the passing of twenty-four hours had been tipped in its solid mahogany frame by an anonymous flunky when the two parties had entered the chamber; though it seemed to Lopez only a fraction of the twinkling grains that appeared precious in the candle glow as they ran, systematically dripping, down to the bottom cavity. But over an hour had passed as the men and women sat in limbo, unaware of how long they would be here.  
  
Again the San Diego leader moved his shifty eye about the room, for perhaps the hundredth time; the New Orleans clan that formed a steady uniform row in front of the opposite row of grand coffins, covered by their jade green robes, lined with an ostentatious rim of real gold thread, remained silent, their faces shaded by the gaping hoods of their ceremonial wear. The ones that sat behind them were similar in their wears and disposition and in an-- -unusual---display of respect, none seemed to be armed. Old ways were not quite as dead as many feared. Though Lopez was certain there would be scores of armed and eager to kill 'soldiers' elsewhere in the crypt or maybe outside where he had been informally instructed to leave the majority of his entourage.  
  
He took a deep breath of balmy air, full with the stifling aroma of candle wax, the notion conspicuous in the quiet; the sound of someone else shifting on the stone floor and then silence. For thieves patience was indeed a virtue.  
  
* * *  
  
Outside...  
  
Miguel Velasquez Lopez paced at the side of the north wall of the sunken crypt, only just holding back from muttering to himself. His internal dialogue ranting at full flow in his insecurity. The long brittle yellow grasses rustled dryly as his legs cut swathes through them; the fifteen other San Diego thieves watching him with a discretion that pretended that they were not. Some stood, other sat idly on tilting tombstones smoking, whilst the majority hung lazily off the sides of the five jeeps that had been provided for them to journey out here; legs hanging out of open doors or over the sides of the thick bars of the frame. Idle chatter present but hushed in accordance with their revered locale; whispered jokes, stunted laughter, crickets were rife.  
  
The thickset, phlegmatic man, who mirrored his younger brother in almost every instance, perhaps a little greyer, cracked the knuckles on each of his hands alternately as he continued to push back and forth through the unkempt grass. Something about this whole set up sat uneasily with him. And for once it wasn't only as a result of the long running feud between the two siblings. The characterisation of their relationship that ran like a dark ever-present undercurrent; never spoken but never forgotten, never ignored. Certain facts, the way Pedro had approached the entire thing was simply...suspect somehow. And as he came back up the side of the crypt and up close to the unguarded entrance, the cause of no small part of his consternation emerged from the double breasted opening. Señorita Jacqueline Quixote.  
  
As the young girl began to walk towards the rest of the group, close to the cars, Miguel nodded to her, in that pertinent way of jutting out the chin, indicating that he wanted words with her. She turned on her heel immediately, trying to suppress a sly smile. This was just too easy, the doppelgänger thought to herself as she came to a rest a yard or so away from the older Lopez brother. 'Putty in her hands' was more than apt.  
  
"Yes." Again, she waited obediently, this time her hands clasped behind her back, legs slightly apart in the stiff stance of an army private.  
  
"What's going on in there?" Miguel asked curtly as she came close and settled to a stop.  
  
The dark girl shook her head tightly, with distinct discipline. "Nothing." She replied, "Until Jean-Luc arrives and we hear word of Gambit, I don't suppose anything will." Just the ghost of a piqued look ran across her face, her brow 'wincing', before she turned, as if to head back towards the group.  
  
He caught it. As was intended. "What is it?" Miguel asked suspiciously; her quick rise to Pedro's close confidant, a process that seemed to have hastened ten-fold since the discovery of the Spanish map, enough to have the wily elder brother on edge; any reason to doubt in truth, he took it for all its worth. He noted the sudden look of nervousness in her large dark eyes, that agedness that oft characterised them masked by it as if a sheet were thrown over.  
  
"I should not say." 'Jacqueline' replied, almost defiantly, but not too much. She didn't want to push it. The woman deserved an Oscar.  
  
Miguel regarded her for a moment; calculating eyes intense as he ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom teeth, contemplating. Finally he nodded his head, jutting it in a clear direction over to a collection of high headstones and a small solid tomb opposite the LeBeau crypt and then started for it. Mystique followed through the caressing stalks, that cunning quirk on her mouth quelled once more. But it didn't take long for it to contort into an open gape of surprise as Lopez grabbed hold of her arm once they were just around the cover of one of the leaning grey tablets.  
  
Swinging her around Miguel slammed the young girl into its lichen encrusted surface, pinning her up against it. Mystique bit at the inside of her cheek to quash her anger and resist retaliating; she could snap this bastard's neck with the flick of her wrist if she so wished and was bitterly sorry that she couldn't. Not yet at any rate.  
  
"I don't care for your conniving snaking up the Clan's ladder Señorita," He seethed in her face, his browning teeth gritted, "Any whore worth their salt can sleep their way to the top, he sniped bitterly, but all that aside, what's going on?"   
  
She shook her head energetically, yellow and white flecks of lichen crumbling off the headstone of John Mills Esq., 1824 to 1898, etched deeply but worn down into near invisibility, to fall like confetti into her jet black locks, "Nothing Señor, I swear on the---."  
  
Miguel made a gruff noise of frustration, pushing his hands into her shoulders even more so, putting pressure on the nerves above the bones on each side as he leant his considerable bulk into her; an action to which even Mystique couldn't help but give a genuine wince, propelling her inner anger to ferocious levels. "Something is going on and I want to know what it is Jacqueline," Mystique heard a sharp zing from somewhere below as he relinquished his hold on her right shoulder and reached into his uniform for something, drawing it out with frightening speed. "Now, tell me what you know---because this whole deal stinks and I want to know what's gone rancid." His usual conspicuous flaccidness showing for what it truly was; a guise that was nothing more than to lure. She gained a new respect for his cunning there and then.  
  
Though she couldn't actually feel the knife, the definite indentation in the tough cloth of her uniform, just beneath the end of her metal breast plate, pushed against her stomach dangerously. Just one expert shove, which she was now in no doubt he was more than capable of, and irreparable damage would be inflicted. This only made it all the sweeter. "He will kill me." She whimpered, her breath shuddering past her lips. The further burrow of the blade made clear his impatience as it came perilously close to cutting through the substantial weave. "Okay, okay!" She conceded. "But I only do this for the good of the Guild."  
  
"What do you mean?" He rasped.  
  
"We can not have traitors leading us." She hissed in a fearful whisper, her eyes wondering the white misty murk of the quiet graveyard as if searching for prying eyes and ears. "Two days ago, I found something in your brother's bedchamber."  
  
Miguel cast her a knowing sneer, but did ease the pressure of the knife and his hand still on her left shoulder, "Snooping were you, little 'rata'?"  
  
"No!" She retorted in pretence of indigence, "But you will certainly thank me that I discovered it." He gave her a questioning look, her presumption that he should feel indebted to her momentarily outweighed by his intrigue at what she'd found, her potential revelation. As he backed away from her completely, but still remained within a threatening proximity, he watched her eager scramble as she fumbled with the pouch on her utility belt, struggling to gain access. But once in, her nubile thief's fingers halted. "I am a loyal thief Señor Miguel---you will promise me that I will be protected for having revealed this to you?"   
  
The older man simply nodded, his dark eyes fixed on that small oblong pouch at her right hip as slowly she took out what she had concealed in there. The crickets chirped maddeningly as the first thick spots of summer rain started.  
  
* * *  
  
New Orleans Guild safe-house, just off Canal Street...  
  
His finger tapped impatiently on the window frame, before pacing back over to the table to take up his vacated chair next to Thierry. The rabble rousing street partiers had long since passed this way, not leaving much of their number behind, just the odd group; loud adolescents outside the barber shop on the corner of the street, swinging off the red and white striped balusters that supported the sagging yawing, gulping at their watered-down whiskey and cheep beers. Streamers and glitter flakes lay like the worn and vanquished across the pavement and vaguely glimmering tarmac of the road whilst the pounding hammer of a repetitive dance tune bounced off the façades of the surrounding buildings, not the more easy-on-the-ear manipulation of the balck and white ivories on some aged bar upright.  
  
After beating out his discordant rhythm on the table with enough insistence to make even the most doleful friend riled, Jean-Luc made to stand from his chair again but was stopped by a sturdy hand on his arm.  
  
"Jean, will yo' jus' stay still fo' five seconds?" Thierry chastised patiently with a half laugh as he looked up at his friend, poised half-way out of his seat.  
  
"Oui, oui." Jean-Luc mumbled as he conceded to his second-in-command, sitting down again. "Je m'excuse---after dat dud lead yesterday, I'm jus' hopin' dis one pays up."  
  
"Christophe's a reliable man," Thierry assured him dutifully, "We always been able t' rely on de homme in de pas'---if 'e says he saw Remy, den 'e saw 'im." He certainly had an unerring confidence about him.  
  
Jean-Luc leant back in his chair, inclining his head back as he rested on the support. He let out a long, tired breath as he gazed at the embossed pattern above him; nicotine stained in a dirty sallow, the swirl grooved plaster. "Yaw righ'."  
  
Thierry watched his old friend for a while longer before speaking again, his manner easy as their fair city, whilst the man his steady light eyes studied was as tense as a cello string. It was very much in contrast to the man he'd known all his life and it wasn't often he witnessed him like this. The occasions he had were few and far between but all had one thing in common. Somewhere in the mess was always that lanky, auburn haired, devil- eyed heap-o'-trouble. "Yo' gotta get yawself t'gether Jean." He said firmly  
  
"What yo' talkin' 'bout---I am t'gether."  
  
But Thierry carried on, disregarding Jean-Luc's plea to the contrary. "De clan see' yo' like dis an' dey gonna start askin' questions. You know dat."  
  
"There ain't no damn reason fo' questions homme." Jean-Luc replied in his usual sonorously stern tone. He fixed Thierry with the iron hardness of his mocha eyes as he leant forwards onto the simple round table. "I'm perfectly on top o' dis---yo' got dat?"  
  
"Loud an' clear, Jean." The sandy haired man replied soberly; a casual hand up in recognition, "Loud an' clear."  
  
"If you hear anythin' or anyone dat says uddahwise, I wanna know 'bout it." This time a simple nod was suffice to satisfy. He didn't need doubt or dissention within his own ranks at this---delicate---time for his clan. Things were unstable enough as it was even to the point that he had had to hide his relief when news of a sighting of his son had filtered through to him. But this was a time when his people needed to be shown uncompromising strength---any personal sensibilities simply didn't come into it.  
  
"Sure t'ing mon ami." Thierry leaned forwards and gave him an affable slap on the shoulder, leaving his hand where it lay for a second, "Yo' know you can count on me." After a moment he let it fall and got up from his chair; not noticing the look that passed through his leader. That complete calm unsettled him, made him feel ill at ease, but only ended with him consciously trying to check the spectre of suspicion that he was reluctant to admit in his heart of hearts. But just then the creaking of the front door of the unassuming shop that they were roomed above broke through his thoughts.  
  
Muffled voices floated up from the room below---one steady, measured in their questioning; the other frantic to relay information. There passed a few seconds of silence, perhaps whispering afoot, LeBeau's increasingly paranoid mind speculated. With a sudden eruption there was a thunderous banging, as someone clamoured their way eagerly up the staircase. Quickly followed by more behind them.  
  
"...we've got a definite location!" Came a vaguely familiar light drawl from the other side of the door, exploding into loudness as the plain door was flung open. Jean-Luc joined Thierry standing as the foot-solider stormed into the room to announce her news.  
  
"Where Jeanette?" Jean-Luc asked calmly as several other clan members filed into the more-or-less derelict room behind the woman; her creamed-coffee cheeks flushed scarlet from the run and the late summer air.  
  
"Up on Bourbon." Pierre LeEnorme cut in to answer for her, stepping forwards from the gaggle of Guild men that had been waiting for word downstairs in the ex-Video hire store.  
  
"Yo' sure 'bout dis mon amie?" Jean-Luc directed his query straight at Jeanette, blanking LeEnorme completely, paying no regard much to his contained chagrin.  
  
"Oui Monsieur LeBeau." She said avidly like a child and nodded, her dark spiralled curls bobbing about her slim face energetically. "I definitely saw him enter---with the white-haired weather witch."  
  
"Dey 'ave anyt'in' wit dem?" Thierry barged to the fore, his countenance eager.  
  
"She---she had a bag." The woman shrugged and shook her head uncertainly; her meagre observance unable to provide them with more than that, much less than they wished.  
  
Jean-Luc took a deep breath; to all outward appearances the product of weariness but in all truth a weight had been lifted...a pressure of guilt...fear. Slowly it flowed out, wistful in its voyage. "Alrigh'." He began firmly, snapping back into the mode, "You," He pointed sharply at LeEnorme, his first acknowledgment of the 'heavy' since he'd entered, "--- take a team. Get de 't'ing' from Remy an' bring it t' de Bayou. De rest of us---we goin' down there now." He scanned across all of the faces now crowding the room. There were small nods of agreement, mostly blank looks of received servitude. Whatever---it pleased LeBeau. "Okay---let's get movin'." He slapped his hands together sharply, like a signal; all Guild members on the move instantly at its indication.  
  
Murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out, they failed to notice as the last two, Mauvais and LeBeau, held back for a moment.  
  
"What 'bout de...uddah t'ing Jean?"  
  
He wiped his had over his mouth and chin, ridding the perspiration. "We'll see mon ami." He replied after a moment of consideration. "We give her time t' come round."  
  
Thierry cocked a knowing eyebrow, "An' if she don'?"  
  
"Den I s'pose we do what we gotta do." Jean-Luc held Thierry's eye before they headed off after the rest of their team, towards the crypt were Lopez already waited.  
  
-TBC-  
  



	14. Chapter14

Very big thanks goes out to all of my reviewers; your comments and praise always make the story more of a joy to write and I'm fortunate and grateful to hear that I'm doing the characters justice. I know it took a while for them to get there, but I am glad to hear that the wait was worth it! Also, there is lots of artistic licence in this chapter. Although the street names I refer to are real New Orleans streets in the French Quarter certain elements of them are of my own creation, like the establishments I describe and my description of the interior of Louis Armstrong Park is also without basis in fact; entirely writer's imagination. M'iko, xx  
  
Se pousser!= Move over!  
  
Parfaire!= Perfect!  
  
Chapter.14.  
  
An hour later, The Palais Napoleon, Bourbon Street...  
  
The steady creak of the fan was mesmerising as they gazed up, with heavy, sated lids, at its partly moth-eaten wicker lattice; always squeaking at that same point, regular as clockwork. It had started to rain on the parade outside but it didn't appear to have dampened anyone's spirits. The persistent drizzle battered down as the party continued to rage on beneath the old four storied tenement building, filling the dark, red fuzzed room with an alternative kind of noise.  
  
Ororo focused on the way Remy's body seemed to stick to hers beneath the thin top sheet; their legs entangled, torsos touching, his sleekly muscled arm draped heavy around her shoulder as his hand rested inertly at the top of her right arm. Her cheek lay on his shoulder; her hard, heated pillow. An airy palm was laid light over the measured rise and fall of his chest, the drum of his heart stimulating the skin. Every time she moved, just a little against him, she felt it speed up, trip over itself in haste; it made her smile. Neither spoke, perhaps listening to the other breathing or afraid to break the peculiar spell that held over the room.  
  
Eventually Remy shifted, moving over just a little to root in the half-open draw of the bedside cabinet. After jostling through old packets, he finally came upon one with some weight to it; a creased packet of red Marlborough's. He gave it a quick shake, something rattled around inside it. Flipping open the dinted cardboard lid with his thumb, he found two cigarettes and a bright green plastic lighter stashed with them. He tipped the box up by his mouth, like he was taking a drink out of the carton, catching just one cigarette between his lips and then pulling it back to somehow contrive to get the lighter out one handed. Throwing the pack absently onto the small cabinet, he settled back into his former position, letting Ororo rest her head again whilst he struck up his smoke.  
  
Ororo followed the path of the thick jet as it 'whistled' silently through his lips, straight up into the air, splitting off into delicate spirals as it rose, free of the jet stream. In a strange parallel of its dispersal she could feel the rushing patterns of the rain outside calming, until they soon ceased to be. Remy turned his head to peer down at her and gave her a lop-sided smile that seeped at the edges with escaping smoke as the last of the rain petered out.  
  
"It had nothing to do with me," she replied to his knowing look, surprised at the dusky frailty in her voice; as content as a cat's velvet purr.  
  
"Sure it didn', chèrie," he winked at her before letting his head roll back into a more comfortable position, taking in a large lungful of his cigarette as he did so.  
  
This was possibly the most surreal moment of his life. Him, in bed, with...Storm. It had felt so good, so right... To covert was one thing, to taste 'forbidden fruit' was another entirely...But the feel of her now, the sense of her tucked up against his body was as if she were made to be there. Just there...His arm that had previously been slack tightened around her, slipping down beneath her and around her waist causing her to be half laid upon him. She rolled to him easily, enjoying their skin unpeeling from each other and then sticking together again as she settled her head on his chest; peering up at him with a lazy, contented smile.  
  
Blue eyes settled closely on the steep rise and fall, the hill, of Remy's Adam's apple; watching it as it moved in a lolloping motion; up down, back forth, like a vessel on gently rolling seas as he swallowed or inhaled. Fascinated by such a mundane movement, Ororo sidled up, placing her lips to the hard mound beneath roughly shaved skin; her petulant finger tips lightly playing with his left nipple as they skimmed over his chest. She felt it shudder beneath her in soft laughter; a bubbling rumble against her mouth as he chuckled, like warm malt. Kissing him softly again she chuckled too; bitter-sweet tang touched the tip of her tongue as she let in flick out to taste the skin.  
  
Remy sighed; a deep satisfaction rolled out with the musty yellow dance of the smoke. He plucked his cigarette out of his mouth whilst his other hand roamed liberally up and down her body, searching without shame beneath the sheet, trailing leisurely yet firmly back up. Fingers explored the sheer edges of her shoulder blades, running over their razor-like precision intently. Creeping up they delighted in causing a shiver as they whispered past the nape of her slender neck and then wound slowly into the dishevelled toughs of her hair. She looked endearingly unkempt to his provocative gaze; the perfect bedroom look. "So, 'Roro," his low voice still told of his exhaustion, the subdued drawl more reticent to tumble out than usual, "what 'appens now?"  
  
Ororo remained still; her limbs felt too heavy to move easily. Slowly she began to pull back from Remy's neck, lips unpicking. But she did not move away from him as he braced himself for, expecting her to do so. No, instead Storm moved atop of him; her legs straddled each side as she leant her upper-body, comfortably, on his lean, relatively hairless chest, only the odd wisps. She stooped down briefly to plant a kiss there, emerging back up to catch his eye before she spoke, "I do not know what will happen from here...," she started in her dusky timbre, the song of a siren to his ears, "...but let us not---spoil it---by thinking over such things now." But would she dash him on the rocks with those sweet notes?  
  
Taking one last drag, Remy prematurely stubbed it out on the bedside cabinet, leaving yet another ugly little black pock mark on its surface where the practice had been done many a time before. Both hands moved to her back now, feeling their way up and down it, pushing the sheet so that it draped languorously over her shapely buttocks. "Um-hum---yaw righ' chère," he replied after a time; his words almost an amiable sigh, "mebbe we should jus' enjoy dis fo' what it is righ' now, non?" He dragged in another deep breath, under the welcome pressure of her nimble yet powerful body on his chest as his hands played at the curving small of her back, "an' let me tell yo'...I'm certainly enjoyin' dis," he added mischievously as his hands nipped down quickly, making much of their fondling of her firm rear before skipping down to her thighs, shifting her up so that she straddled, lengthy legs parted, directly over his groin.  
  
With a playful sigh, Ororo rolled her eyes but did not for one minute reproach him for his gratuitousness. Rather, she relished the feel of him beneath her, although resisted the urge to stir him once more with a teasing rock of her hips. But it appeared there would be no need for such obvious displays of seduction. With a laugh that, for one such as Storm, was perilously, mortifyingly close to a horrific giggle, she broke from the constant hold of his hands and rolled off him to her right, her lower body being ensnared in the sheets as she moved. But her freedom was short lived as Remy swiftly regained ground, pitching above her with equal laughter. Leaning up over her on his poker straight arms, only the barrier of the sheets prevented him from restabilising his contact; skin on skin. A contact eagerly wanted if the rock hard pressure that lay against her through white cotton was anything to go by.  
  
All went quiet between them and their faces dropped into a contemplative vision of seriousness as they gazed up and down at each other respectively. A moment passed betwixt the friends-come-lovers, like all those of tender affirmation in times gone by; the comfortable union of soul-mates. It flittered like a seldom-seen spark of recognition and was gone as swiftly. But neither could deny it had been there.  
  
"It always baffled me, ya know," Remy started softly with a shake of the head and a deft smile, his clammy fringe flopping down.  
  
"What did?" Ororo asked uncertainly with a playfully perplexed look.  
  
"Ain't it obvious?" he inquired cheekily, "Why a femme as intelligent, confident an'...jus' so beautiful as you 'asn't had men queuin' at her door from Westchester t' Houston, Texas." He stayed just this side of smarmy...just.  
  
Ororo reached up and linked her hands around his neck, lacing her fingers, "Perhaps it has escaped your attention Remy, but I have been rather busy with---other---matters over the years."  
  
"Hey, dat ain't no excuse," he chided kindly as he leant down to kiss gently at her mouth, enjoying her full lips before travelling slowly down her jaw line and then her exquisite neck. He heard her sigh with pleasure, a longing moan passed, as his hot breaths tickled and grateful lips teased the flesh. In truth, he was gratified that no-one had spotted or taken their chance with her before this day, for he would not be here with her now. He came down to rest on his forearms as his mouth snaked lower, over the hardness of the collar bone, onto her breast plate before finding his way to her breasts  
  
Storm tried, but failed miserably, to bite back the groan that issued with abandon as she caught her fingers up into his hair ruthlessly. She attempted to stop with her encouragement but it was a fruitless endeavour.  
  
It was obvious that he wished to renew their union, and so she spoke to distract him. "It may not have been an excuse, but it will have to do," she finally retorted breathily, fighting for control again as she shifted beneath him. She twisted underneath him, smiling at his low grumble of disappointment as she buried her face in the pillow. Quick, hot bites littered up her exposed back, coursed through her, culminating in liquid nibbles on her left earlobe.  
  
As Remy slipped from her back, coming to a rest on the left side of her, Ororo turned her head that way, studying him as he settled; the thick bar of red that fell across the pillow, lying softly like scarlet lace upon his face; illuminating his ruggedly attractive features for her leisure, her pleasure. They fell into a lulling silence as they stared across at each other over the white crumbled mounds of the pillow; a snow bound terrain. He concentrated on the sculpted lines, the smooth lines that melted seamlessly, the play of light and dark; her faultless skin turned a deeply rich vein of mocha in its present shade, facing away from the window. Curious fingers reached up as crimson and azure held each other in their sway, working along her cheek, along to that delectable nose and its vaguely curving tip and down to her tantalisingly barely parted mouth; enchantingly aware of every perfectly proportioned contour. Passively she let his sure hands wonder, she enjoyed the feeling of being explored in so intimate a manner, with no awkwardness what-so-ever. And she amazed him; captivation not a strong enough word at this time. His mind drifted back to those questioning thoughts that had plagued him in the forest; though he found were a bein no more. Fleeting forwards again, he tried to hold off their current reality for a little longer, enjoying the fragrance and vibrancy of a New Orleans night, with a woman he loved in his bed, for just a while, everything else was pushed back...He stroked down her face, dropping off to her shoulder, a finger moved, slinked down the sleek muscle tone of her arm. She quivered.  
  
"Remy?" Her voice resumed its measured command, its dusky charm.  
  
"Um-hum?" He responded distractedly, way too involved in edging his hands underneath her body, making an impertinent play for her breasts.  
  
Ororo squirmed to stop him, making her arm a barrier, "Remy please, listen to me," she tried to stay serious, but it was difficult in the face of his persistence, "please, listen."  
  
He groaned exaggeratedly as he proceeded to try and tip her body over onto her back, "Sorry chère," he growled as he succeeded in moving her onto her side, quickly taking hold of her waist and slipping his other hand beneath her and onto her back, "bu' Remy's got waaaay to many uddah t'ings beggin' fo 'is attention---," his words cut off as he descended on her chest once more; teasing and titillating as he placed a long strong leg between hers in renewed entanglement.  
  
Ororo's eyes closed and she caught hold of his hair, ragging it back from the root; falling into the sensation, falling hopelessly into him again. "No, Remy...," she started to protest with a distinct lack of conviction.  
  
"Wha'?" He laughed; it rumbled against her body, "Jus' relax girl...," he always took things so in his stride. It infuriated her at times, his casualness. With all her resolve, for his skill, his adroitness, bewitched her, her hands slipped to his shoulders and she contrived to push him from her. With some resistance he eventually relented. "Wha's wrong?" He peered up at her, slightly like an injured child being denied his way, but it was all in jest.  
  
She smiled, chastising, at his play-acting. "I have to ask you, Remy," her unexpected solemnity made him pay full attention as he shifted up to rest on the pillow again. "And I want you to tell me the truth."  
  
He shrugged, the crumpled pillow rustled, "O' course chère," he grinned, "Don' I always?"  
  
Ororo raised a slender eyebrow, her lips quirked; she wouldn't answer that. "I need you to tell me, truthfully, what is going on?"  
  
He gave a shake of his head, for a moment confused, "'Ro, you know as much as---."  
  
"No, I do not mean that," she interrupted, wondering whether or not he had deliberately misconstrued her question. "I meant, with you."  
  
Remy narrowed his eyes at her and made an uncertain noise, "I don' know what you mean."  
  
Ororo sighed and rolled onto her back, flinging her arm up above her head as her other settled across the flat plane of her stomach. She watched the fan go round. "There is something going on with you," she alleged, still staring straight up, "All the way back from Brazil, I could see there was something you were not telling me."  
  
"We were in a boat full o' people chère," he replied off-handily as he pushed himself into a semi-sitting position and reached across her to his cigarettes on the cabinet, leaving the prematurely stubbed out one where it lay, taking the packet from the draw instead, "we were supposed t' be layin' low, keepin' a cover," he said as he shifted back over, all the while he tapped out a cigarette and popped it into his mouth. He made to light it, automatically cupping his hand around the flame to shield it from a non-existent wind out of sheer habit. But he hesitated in his action for a moment; looking down at her, he mumbled from around his smoke, sounding a little more piqued by now, "Didn' exactly 'ave time or opportunity fo' no idle chit-chat 'bout our situation." Eventually he brought the end of his cigarette into the flame and puffed on it furiously to get it going. He tossed the lighter back down onto the cabinet on his side of the bed. Even that noise seemed to hold a pent up annoyance, demonstrating the sudden shift in mood.  
  
Ororo listened to all this patiently, sighing just softly, not irritably once he had finished; leaning back against the railed headboard, chuffing away happily enough. She rubbed the back of her hand across the sheen of her forehead as she prepared to confront him, "Well we are not on a boat full of people anymore," she began quietly and then shifted her head back, inclining it to the side, a painful tweak passed through her neck at the awkward angle as she looked up at him. He stared resolutely ahead, his mouth puckered into a small 'O' as a couple of doughnut shaped sallow-white rings floated almost elegantly out, followed by a thick line of smoke; shot out straight. "Remy, I lost count of the number of times I saw you staring at your hands," she continued as she pushed herself up to lean on her elbows, "What was that about?"  
  
Remy glanced at her, but didn't want to hold contact; smacking his lips around the filter and drawing in long and slow; the crackle of the burning paper forming into an ever elongating column of ash, audible. But he remained as silent as the grave, the impassive blankness of his face telling Ororo she would glean nothing from him, so there would be no point in trying further. This time her sigh told plainly of her frustration as she flopped back down onto her back. As she did so there was a loud thud from above them; immediately on the ball, they both looked up with intention. They waited but there was nothing more. Still, it had made them both sufficiently aware of their surroundings after being so caught-up in each other for the past hour.  
  
He took his cigarette from his mouth, wetting his lips as his narrowed eyes stuck fast to the yellowed ceiling. "T'ink it 'bout time we made a move chère," he told her cautiously, picking off a tiny curl of tobacco that had wheedled down past the mottled filter, from the tip of his tongue with his thumb and middle finger. His eyes were still up there as he extinguished his cigarette, this time into a bottle green glass ashtray, not in the irreverent manner of the last, and slipped, cat-like, out of the bed; Ororo waited for a moment, watching his naked form stride casually over to the wardrobe in the corner of the room before exiting the bed likewise, casting a wary glance at the ceiling. It was probably nothing but it was unspoken understanding between the two that it would be much more preferable to be safe rather than sorry.  
  
Quickly pulling on the discarded denim shirt, simply wrapping it kimono- style for the time being, keeping it secured with her arms, she asked, somewhat aloofly, "Where do you intend on making a move to, by the way?" Curiosity still surrounded his intentions---honourable or not?  
  
Remy yanked open the wardrobe doors and turned over his shoulder to answer her all at once but a second noise came, not so much a thud, more a click. But it was a definite out-of-sorts sound, even through the racket that still made its way up from the busy street, though the old radio had cut out long since, temperamental as it was. And so he didn't bother to answer her, quickly reaching in and taking out a pair of close fitting, what could only be described as leggings, the type of which he used to wear with his old uniform, designed to hug every inch of muscle; apt for lithe acrobatics, his expertly controlled foolhardiness. He pulled them on and then a matching sleeveless t-shirt.  
  
"Here," he tossed over an identical t-shirt to Ororo as he took a pair of metal-plated boots from the bottom of the wardrobe and stepped into them, securing them about his knees.  
  
"Thanks." Letting the now cumbersome shirt fall, the weather witch wasted no time in yanking on the item, having already gotten into her combats. Tugging it down at the hem, she stopped and smiled when she looked up to see what else Remy had retrieved from the wardrobe. It certainly brought back some memories. He was currently fitting himself into one of his old magenta breast plates, the body armour synonymous with his old clan. "Long time, no see," she quipped fondly.  
  
"Oui," he replied shortly as he set about fastening the last security clip in place before smiling wryly to himself; his hands desisted in their task as if in contemplation. "It 'as been a while, non?" One hard push of the thumb and it snapped loudly into place, making his upper body nigh-on unassailable. One of these beauties had never failed him yet. "I 'aven't got anuddah dat would fit you," he sounded dull and far off as he popped his head back into the wardrobe, coming back out with a flack-jacket, along with one of his old dusters of a lighter, fawn brown, for without it he would have felt incomplete; his other, having met its dreary end at the bottom of that insipid pool along with his backpack.  
  
Ororo plucked the jacket from the bed, its buckles set to jangling like keys. She eyed it over with a definite note of scepticism and immediately raised her eyebrow at Remy; a sign of indignation that she would have need of such a thing, perhaps. It seemed the virile prick of pride sometimes stoked in the most humble of people.  
  
In 'reply' Remy simply knocked twice on his armour; hollow, solid raps on the abs-moulded front of the almost impenetrable sleek material. The message was loud and clear, it had saved his life more times than he cared to remember and as she wasn't wearing the specially atomised suite of her usual X-uniform, he wasn't prepared to let her risk it. Things, he was reluctant to admit, could get...ugly. Very ugly indeed.  
  
Two more soft thuds from a lower level, in quick succession, suggesting the rhythm of step ascending, and it was enough to implore them to haste. Ororo swiftly strapped the bullet-proof on without further protest, securing it correctly. As Gambit slipped his duster on and made for the window, Storm crossed past him and took the grey satchel from the corner, slinging it carefully across her body; its weight more than she remembered. With a clumsy yet zipping clatter, Remy drew the Venetian blind up to the hilt via the gangly fraying string that hung on its left side. There was a balcony out side but it was more to enhance the physical façade of the old tenement building; less a practical notion, more a decoration. But it would have to do, for as the window was slid open, grinding upwards with some difficulty, several whispering voices from all directions gave up their pretence of stealth.  
  
"Dis is it girl!" Remy drawled as he gave Ororo a salacious wink, climbed up onto the sill and deftly swung his legs out of the window, slipping like an eel through the half raised pane. Whatever this was, wherever this wild ride was taking them now, Storm was happy to be taken on its particular brand of winds. She followed him out onto the balcony. And then things really began to get kinetic.  
  
*  
  
It was an altogether rough, tinny sound as the projectile collided with the rusted edge of the balustrade, pinging off to who knows where. Remy hugged back against the wall and window; flinging an arm out across Ororo to keep her pinned to it too. White flakes of hoary paint scattered into the air. The carnival music would have drowned any such noise out to those on the ground, gone unnoticed.  
  
"An' where d'yo' t'ink you two are sneakin' off to?"  
  
They both looked up to see Pierre LeEnorme's ruddy, bullish face smiling coldly down at them; the small gun still cocked in his hand, trained on them. Or more specifically, Remy; aimed for a killer blow. The first shot had been merely a warning.  
  
"Still as charmin' an' tactful as evah, I see?" The Cajun X-Man said with a highly individual satire that almost made it seem genuine. All the more effective at riling the recipient, he always found. As was the case here; the prior history between the two helped of course. LeEnorme didn't waste anytime in letting off another shot; moving the aim from Remy's heart only a split second before pulling the trigger. The pock mark shattered the cream plastered façade of the building just a centimetre or two to the left of Remy's head, but his face didn't betray that he'd felt the wind of it pass by so close he could taste the sulphur from the shot.  
  
"Jeeze Pierre!" A female voice called from behind him somewhere; both Remy and Ororo craned their heads a little higher to try and see the owner but the ornate overhang protruded out an inch or so too much. It was only then that they became aware of several padded sounds behind them; they didn't need to look to tell them that several more of LeEnorme's troupe had filed into the room. They were close to surrounded. But not quite...They heard the feminine tone sailing down again, no less irate. "We're 'ere fo' what's in de bag an' dat's all---will you get a grip o' yo'self?!"  
  
In all of this sudden commotion, Remy had managed to quickly assess their surroundings; swiftly but most thoroughly. Not that he didn't know every in and out of this safe-room and the buildings around it, to know these details, this minutiae, was the golden rule of any abode a thief took, but things have a tendency to change. Even the slightest realignment of a telegraph post or street-light or electrical cable would have thrown him off tilt should they have found they had need of them. Though all he needed now was a distraction. As it transpired, Lady Luck was smiling on him this day.  
  
A phosphorous explosion from high above, trickling down like water in green, purple and gold turned the scene to multi-colour; the energy and deafening roar of the fireworks enough to put LeEnorme and his trailing goons off for that split second. A split second was all, Remy would boast, he needed. He caught Ororo to his side as with his free hand, she instantly wrapped her arms about him as he pulled a wire from the lining of the right pocket of his duster; still remembering where everything resided, all his tools intuitively set in. With a swift lurch he propelled them both forwards, sending them tumbling head-first over the low railing of the balcony. Almost immediately they heard fire-fight behind them, but not just one this time; several guns joined the fray. But Remy didn't have time to dwell on why his former Guild had suddenly become so gun-happy, having always resisted weapons with higher potential for lethal force in the past, he was too busy making sure he and Storm weren't about to plunge to a messy end below. He'd slipped the length of wire around the spiked top of the balcony, letting it slip lose until they came just beneath it and then he reaffirmed his grip on it, winding around his hand with a swift whip; essentially leaving them suspended forty feet above the packed street. But not for long...With a forceful kick out of both his legs in tight unison, he carried on their momentum, swinging them back close to the side of the building.  
  
Ororo immediately grabbed out at the drainpipe to her left and the side of the window frame of the room directly below Remy's. But he had to swing out one last time as he deposited her there, chancing out into another hail of bullets as more fireworks erupted into brief but loud life above, again covering the racket of the guns going off. But he was soon underneath again, having kicked of the thick telegraph post to propel him forwards again, letting the wire drop as he came back beneath the balcony and clung to the window beside Ororo, his feet planted firmly on the bottom edge of the sill.  
  
"I can not risk a wind to take us down," Ororo quickly informed him, all the while studying the side of the building herself for a plan of quick escape before elaborating, "For a start it would make us an open target and secondly, any bullets I could protect us from could stray to those people down below."  
  
"I get ya Stormy," he replied distractedly, trying to work free his Bo staff.  
  
Ororo turned her head to him; the wall scratching against her face she was so pressed to it, "Since when did the Thieves Guild condone firing guns with impunity in public places?"  
  
Remy gave a wry grin as best he could around his staff that he was momentarily holding in his mouth whilst he rummaged in his pocket for something else. Finding it, he removed the staff, placing it back in its pocket, and replied, "Let's jus' say, me an' him," he flicked his eyes up to indicate the bullish ringleader, "---we nevah exactly been de bes' o' buddies."  
  
"And why does that not surprise me?" Ororo said flatly. For a man whose ability for the 'charm to disarm' was legendary, he certainly amassed a fair amount of mortal enemies.  
  
Remy made a face and smiled, "It a long story---mebbe I tell yo' some uddah time chère." All the while his other hand, furthest away from Ororo's view, was working at something that soon came to fruition. With a light crack and a snap the slim vile pinched between his fingers fizzed and hissed, but before its stinging cloud could begin to bellow, he tossed it with a looping throw so it cleared the underside of the balcony and swerved back in to land at the feet of his former comrades, now out of the room and stood above them.  
  
As the eruption of coughing and spluttering in reaction to the noxious tear gas, followed by another round of random blind fire, the sparks flew this way and that as the two X-Men began their descent to street level the fast track way; by sliding down the solid iron drain pipe. Ororo went first, Remy coming a close second, erring on the side of caution for once. They came to a cushioned stop, one after the other, on the striped yawning canopy over the main door to the building; bouncing down it as if it were a trampoline, letting their momentum take them. In mere seconds they were over its edge, dropping expertly to their feet, down at ground level and merging into the cavalcade of chaos as a brass band near by burst into a rapturous rendition of 'When the Saints Go Marching In'. They didn't once look back as they pushed on into the crowd, hopefully to be easily lost.  
  
*  
  
"That son-ova-bitch!" Pierre LeEnorme screamed in utter fury; his eyes streaming and lungs almost completely choked by the tear gas. He hacked out another cough, spitting the greenish grey mucous onto the roof of the building where he still stood; the toxicity of Remy LeBeau's assault having reached past those on the balcony to them that were still at that vantage point. "Damn mutie bâtard!" he raged, before leaping down to join the others; the decorative railing creaked dramatically with the weight, not having been designed to take such strain.  
  
After the wheezing and spluttering had subsided, Jeanette caught sight of the pair shimming swiftly down the drainpipe through blurred stinging eyes. Rubbing again at her orbs in an almost futile effort to rid them of the gas, she cried, "They're gettin' away!"  
  
"T'ank-you very much fo' statin' de fuckin' obvious!" LeEnorme shouted angrily as he held his eyes wide in an attempt to air them, the water streaming down even more copiously. He dropped down to the lower level with the other; the white painted iron structure creaked and trembled. "Dey are not gettin' away, yo' hear!" it was more an order than a statement he began to climb over the balustrade, showing a surprising slightness for a man of his size, "we do whatevah it takes t' get dat bag---WHATEVAH IT TAKES!"  
  
His voice bellowed to them all as they started their descent with the swiftness of thieves; all desperately trying to recover from the attack but still with their hearts and minds concentrated on the task at hand. Not a single one of them, with their expertly trained eye, had lost sight of their targets as they swung from the street lights and the old telegraph pole in acrobatic display, even as their targets had dropped down into the streets and tried to lose themselves in the constant flow of people. The Thieves Guild was soon down there and hot on their trail.  
  
*  
  
Remy led the way, pushing, dodging and slipstreaming his way gazelle-like through the crowd, all the while Ororo right at his back, keeping a careful propinquity; the weight of the satchel not telling on her yet but she feared it soon would. But in a corner of her mind she was more worried about the bashing it was taking as they cut a swathe in their mad, desperate retreat; the people where a throbbing throng, thick as vegetation. It became difficult at times to distinguish from the participants in the long parade and those that had come to watch. They all seemed to have condensed into one; a dazzling array of colourful costume and noise, order broken down. There were so many of them, too many of them...but if they continued moving at such a pace, Storm could ignore the tight press of bodies all about her.  
  
She chanced a glance over her shoulder as they were about to round the corner off Bourbon and onto Bienville Street, through the swaying feathers of a particularly overbearing costume, an explosion of turquoise, shocking pink, Prussian blue and neon yellow, she caught the faintest glimpse of an irate Guild face, red rimmed eyes looking sore, not more than five or six people back from them. They had caught up fast. There was nothing they could do except keep on running and running and running...  
  
Remy rammed his way unapologetically through the brass band as the parade headed northwards up Bienville, making their way to the wide expanse of North Rampart Street, where an even larger crowd awaited. Up there, on the much more capacious street, the parade would not be so compressed, allowing for quicker movement. But that fact had a downside of course, namely that it would make it far easier for their pursuers also.  
  
Gambit could see that he was doing the right thing, had known it ever since he'd decided that the Carcoccia wasn't ending up in any Guild's hands--- even the New Orleans. That's the thought he held onto as they ran. He'd made his mind up about this days ago deep down, before they'd entered the temple even. It had simply taken him a while to admit to himself, as usual-- -the reluctant hero. What they'd seen in Naroapa Impokiro had simply confirmed that decision. The right decision. But as always, he was finding the right decision was placing him in more trouble than just complying. Sometimes this awkward business of integrity was a cumbersome burden. Where had the care-free, conscience-free days gone, he often asked himself, especially when he found himself being chased down the street by a group of gun-tooting lunatics with one purpose; bringing about the end of Gambit. It was a task he knew Pierre LeEnorme in particular had been looking forwards to for most of his life. And here he was, giving the mutant-hating bigot 'just cause' for doing just that. But there was no time to think about that, or to ponder why Jean-Luc had sent that man of all people to collect them, for he had spied an opening.  
  
"Dis way!" he shouted as he grabbed blindly behind him, instantly feeling Storm's hand within his own, the perfect fit, and cut a quick swerve to his right, almost knocking an over-eager trombonist flying on the process. "Hey! Watch it!"  
  
Remy led them into the open façade of a Spanish restaurant on the corner where Dauphine Street met Bienville; nipping through the simple aluminium tables that had been set on the pavement 'el fresco' style. So far, so good; until they got into the heart of the large restaurant and in their rush, clattered into several tables on their way through. Much to the consternation of the patrons as a round of surprised cries and angry shouts went up along the path they were taking, muttering empty 'sorries' as they went. At one stretch Remy was actually up onto the tables, hopping from one to the other like stepping stones in a river. It was not long before another rampage started up behind them; they did not need to turn to know who it was; the rabid dogs, nipping at their heels. At best estimate, from what they'd seen back at the Palais Napoleon, there where at least ten of them. Again the shouting and flying curses rang out from the customers; this time accompanied by much more purposefully destructive sounds; entire tables being up set, the crash of cutlery, dishes smashing and expensive wines falling to the red tiled ground of the traditional restaurant. Why bother going around when you can simply smash your way through?  
  
"What de hell do you t'ink you're doing?!" shouted the maîtres d'hôtel as they rushed past his little podium, heading towards the double doors of the kitchen at the back of the establishment.  
  
"Pardon!" Remy couldn't help but call back, a careless grin on his face just for good measure, infuriating the man even more than the wanton destruction was. He just about caught the Cajun expletive roared out at them from the thin, black moustached man in the penguin suite as they ploughed roughly through the two-way doors, into the furious blast of kitchen heat; the smell of Mediterranean spices and flaming meats stifling. But behind them, their own expletive bile courtesy of the maîtres d'hôtel figure was quickly followed by a volley of several more from the slight- framed man, presumably directed at their pursuers.  
  
Never mind their troubles; now the X-Men had the verbal assaults of the shocked kitchen staff to contend with as they darted through, around the vast stainless steal islands and counters; those who where too shocked to shout simply gawped at the intruders, open mouthed.  
  
"What de fuck?!" the head chef bellowed as he turned away from his work counter, stepping into Remy's path as Ororo went around the other side of the counter to avoid him altogether.  
  
"Se pousser!" Remy shouted back at the chef, angrily this time as he heard the doors clatter open once more and the calls of LeEnorme and the others after them. When it was clear that the sizable chef, who still happened to have his razor sharp, ten inch carving knife clasped in his hand, wasn't about to move anywhere, Remy extended his leg out just half an inch in stretch of his stride. Instantly he took the burly man down with a sneaky trip; sending him crashing noisily as his hand caught his chopping board, sending it and its contents cascaded down all over him. Remy simply hopped over him, not looking back, or breaking his run until both he and Ororo converged on the fire doors at the back of the kitchen. Storm went through first, bursting out into the relatively fresh air of the alleyway whilst Gambit just took a moment to create an obstruction; taking hold of a huge metal frame shelving unit stacked with dirty pans, and pulling it over to block their foes who were almost upon them, having made up the gap well.  
  
And then Remy was out too, both of them running down the extremely dark alley way, having to instinctively guess where the backstreet rubbish lay to hinder them; jumping and almost tripping over boxes and black plastic sacks that had spilt their load over the ground. The turbulence of the kitchen, the clang and the clash got further and further away as they ran until all they could hear was their own breaths in their ears, hearts racing as they surged on. But soon the riotous noise from the kitchen burst into loudness once more; Remy's impromptu barricade broken. And as the first gun shot zipped past them, they knew it was an imperative that they get back into the crowd as soon as possible for it had been the only thing that had stopped them from being fired on. Several more shots sounded around their ears, along with the hasty clicks of discharging and reloading, and all they could do was continue to run as the bullets hit the ground about their feet, some flying into the bin bags, exploding the rubbish inside up into the air like dirty fire works. One or two came far too close for comfort.  
  
"Take a left!" Remy instructed as they neared 'daylight' as it were, coming out onto the edge of the alley, to turn onto Conti Street. There were certainly more people about, but they needed to get back to the parade, the front end of which they could see currently going along N. Rampart.  
  
Storm had to fight the urge to use her powers; with as much control as she held over them and such precision that she had practised down to an art form, it was still too much of a risk with so many people about. Civilians came first; the golden rule, page one of how to be an X-Man. They were almost there anyway, racing past the intersection with Burgundy; the bulk of the parade was within touching distance once more. The pounding of their feet, with the pounding of the beat, thundered through the street.  
  
"Give it up LeBeau!"  
  
Remy would have laughed had he had the breath to. The music and jeering became louder and louder as they neared Rampart; obstreperousness erupting all around them as they finally rejoined the rowdy horde. A float, decked out in pink and red carnations, sporting papier-mâché idols at its head, moved at a tortoise pace past them as they pushed back into the partying mass. Ororo shimmed around it and once on the blind side from the Guild, she hopped up onto its side, her back pressed to it. Remy followed suite. For a moment neither could speak as their breath burned up their throats, like they were breathing pure acid. They took full advantage of the brief rest, knowing that it would be over soon, too soon. Ororo shifted the satchel; the strap having bitten into her shoulder, the adjustment buckle had left its imprint in her flesh.  
  
"Yo' wan' me t' take dat?" Remy panted out, seeing her discomfort.  
  
Ororo shook her head before leaning it back against the bloom of pink flower heads behind her. "No," she finally got the breath to reply, "besides, you can not."  
  
"I tol' you---," he began to protest, unsuccessfully.  
  
"Do not argue. There is not time to argue."  
  
"Okay, but we need some transpor', an' we need it quick," Remy said as he jerked his head this way and that for something, anything that would get them out f this situation that bit sooner; at the same time keeping a look out for LeEnorme and his monkeys.  
  
"Are we going where I think we are going?" Ororo asked.  
  
"Yah," Remy replied shortly as he continued his search, a broad smile suddenly coming onto his face, his eyes lit up as they fell on something that pleased them very much indeed, "An' I t'ink I jus' found de way we gonna get dere too."  
  
Ororo turned to follow the direction of his pleased gaze; a couple of groups up, between a troupe of high school Majorettes and the local Drag Queen Society, were the New Orleans Harley Davison Club.  
  
"Parfaire!" Remy beamed as he jumped down off the float, quickly followed by Ororo.  
  
"Pierre, dey're 'ere!" someone cried from behind them, "Dey're 'ere!"  
  
They quickened their step in response, as much as they could; chancing just one or two quick glances behind. Perhaps a small display of power would suffice, Ororo thought as they finally reached the group of bikers. The most fleeting of vague, white mists clouded the blue of her eyes as a swift stiff breeze swooped down and collided with the two bikers at the rear, knocking both men and machinery over, separating them from one another. Remy and Ororo were soon there to pick up the spoils; the bikers being too dazed and confused to react in time as they watched the pair retrieve the Harley's from the ground, quickly hop on and get the bikes revved up, all in one slick motion it seemed. The surprise at events transpiring simply led to the rest of those around moving out of harms way in order to let the pair speed off without thinking.  
  
"Get outta de way!" Remy rammed furiously on his horn as parade goers flew to the left and the right, reacting in a mixture of shock and drunken glee as they made way for the two bikes trying their best to speed recklessly through. They lent and weaved as if on a speed-way track, not realising that two hundred yards behind them, the Guild members on their tails had unwittingly saved them from the wrath of the rest of the biker club. Everything turned red and gold as the sky lit up with more glittering explosions.  
  
*  
  
It had become a complete free-for-all---Thieves and bikers throwing punches at anyone who stepped in front of them in the chaos. All the while Pierre seethed at the sight of LeBeau and the weather witch making their escape, rapidly being lost to them as they careered along the road and people willingly made way for them. It did much to add to his anger; an anger that finally came to a head in the form of a knock-out blow for the biker closest to him. Throwing the man from his vehicle via a hefty grip of his leather, LeEnorme caught the bike before it fell to the ground, the engine still very much in life and sped off. From the best he could tell, at least two of his number made it out of the fray to follow him.  
  
*  
  
As Remy and Ororo came up past Louis Armstrong Park the crowd had already thinned as if in anticipation of their passing, perhaps thinking that they were part of the show. They were almost neck and neck with each, having managed to up the speed to nearly sixty but as they came to St Phillips Street up the eastside of the park, it allowed them to cut lose, pushing the hogs up to ninety and beyond as they squeezed through a gap in the police barriers and rounded the corner and onto the cordoned off road. Tearing down the deserted street with frightening speed, the white spray of the former drizzle spitting up from the ground, Remy had to profess admiration for Storm's handling of the bike with such consummate ease as he looked over to his left, taking his eyes off the road for just a moment. She could keep up with him in everyway imaginable. In fact, that was not even the worry; would he be able to keep up with her? He half smiled to himself as he faced back front, the wind whipped past, more-or-less deafening him to the sound of the carnival as they left it far behind. Though, the smile did not last for long as he caught sight of something in his wing-mirror.  
  
"Stormy!" he called in warning.  
  
"I see him!" she shouted back quickly, soon correcting herself as she looked in her mirror again, "Them!" And indeed, there were two more, further behind the thickset, brutish man with the shaved head; the girl they had heard shouting on the roof-top and another of the men. The only mercy was that there appeared to be no more of them having made it through.  
  
Remy's eyes narrowed in bitter annoyance as he saw LeEnorme once more reaching for his gun; his mind swiftly ran over the number of things he was going to do to that mutant-hating bastard when this was over, if he ever got the chance, of course. But there were other priorities to contend with at this juncture; like dodging bullets on an open stretch of road whilst keeping control on a motorbike pushing close to one hundred on the speedometer, on a very slick surface. He looked to his left; the flat greens of the park and the tree clusters rushed by, giving him an idea.  
  
With nothing more than a short high pitched whistle to grab Ororo's attention over the roar of the engines and rush of the winds, Remy suddenly swerved off the road, jumped up onto the pavement to smash headlong through the thin bordering hedge row, just as the first bullet hit the asphalt. Storm followed him through as another narrowly missed her back tire.  
  
The far side of the park was for the best part deserted, most  
people being close to the  
South end where the party still thrived. The grass churned up with swarthy mud as the bikes tore through; spitting up green flecks like a mower throwing back its dead waste after the carnage of blades. The handling became a little harder on such an unpredictable surface but the speed demon did not refrain in its grip of the pair---they continued flat out, hell for leather, no matter what the danger. The consequence of failure was too much to bear. The five bikes weaved across the perfectly manicured park, gliding with swift ease in and out the islands of slim trees and elegantly lined concrete walkways. Shots came with merciful infrequency; the art of firing a gun and driving a high powered motorcycle through a veritable obstacle course not as easy as one is led to believe. None-the-less, the shots that were fired off again came alarmingly close on several occasions.  
  
Certainly to close for Remy's comfort as one, fired by the third man, deafened him as it raced past his right ear, leaving a perfect hole in the flapping raised collar of his trench-coat. Enough was enough. He could only take so much and he wasn't about to take any more; that Cajun fire that rippled ceaselessly through his red cells, seldom seen, flashed his eyes to a feverous intensity. His jaw was set, steely stern, as he took a small metal cap from his inside pocket whilst navigating a tricky dip in the terrain. It was stashed in case of emergencies since the last time he'd had need of this jacket he'd been packing his own firepower, but he praised himself for his fortunate contingency planning. With his wing mirror to guide him, his pursers disappearing and merging through the lines of tall bushes, he timed it just perfect before pushing the cap down and tossing it into their path.  
  
But, as if in anticipation of such an action, his primary target, LeEnorme, jerked to the left just in time to avoid the minor explosion Remy's device caused. Instead the girl behind him took the brunt of it, though Remy did not bother to keep track after he realised it had missed his old foe. He didn't see the rider behind Jeanette clip the back end of her half eaten away bike, the collision sending his Harley off the ground, pitching it aimlessly into the air only to land with a painful thud, unconscious, very possibly half dead. The three left standing raced on.  
  
They came past the trees and rockery ornamentation, out onto a flat, unhindered plane of lush grass. Remy was no more than a wheels length ahead of Ororo, with their adversary just ten foot or so now having made up the distance nicely. This all had the feeling of coming to a conclusion---one way or another---immanently. Up ahead there was a short cant, a man-made incline that they could see from which a low gurgle of springing water bubbled up. There was a pond of some sort set at the top of it. With the merest meeting of eyes, a glimpse of knowing confidence, of the trust of seasoned team-mates, they didn't need to be telepaths to realise the plan.  
  
Storm's face fell into a veneer of other-worldly concentration, with eyes that swirled with white liquid, Cleopatra's bath, as her smiling mouth told of a forbidden pleasure; one that nobody else on this earth, or any other, could ever know. A strong wind swept across the ground coming in from behind them, whipping the smattering of carnival litter left on the ground up into an airy dance. The tremulous drum of thunder rocked through the skies, dramatic as anything man or gods could conjure, cloaked in a heavy blanket of angry greying black. The faintest of rains started, simply a prelude to the main event. The small embankment was almost upon them, she had to do it soon and the timing and placement could not afford to go awry.  
  
Meanwhile behind them LeEnorme had but one bullet left to his disposal and he meant to use it well. He had gone far past the point of reason---hatred has none. He wanted to see LeBeau dead and be damned the consequence. The brewing storm did not appear to worry him in the least, his current fracture led him to forget the nature of the woman at Remy's side; a fatal oversight on his part. His finger eased itself onto the trigger, applying pressure, one eye closed to narrow his focus to perfection...  
  
The front wheels of the bikes hit into the small bank, lifting them up, giving them that crucial levity as they hit the incline at maximum speed. As they ascended, leaping with a certain amount of grace into empty space above the pond, the skies overhead opened like an egg cracked. And the lightening struck down into the path of the third rider, blowing out the front tire. LeEnorme was tossed forwards as the bike flipped, the back wheel reared up and flame was already pouring from it like some cruel display; a spark hit the fuel tank and a volatile ball went up, turning everything fiery orange for a moment as it ripped through the machine and soared upwards. Its intensity was such that not even the responsively heavy pelt of the rain could dowse it.  
  
Both Ororo and Remy felt the heat at their backs as they descended on the other side of the narrow pond. Not that Gambit had known its width when he'd taken the decision to jump it for it had not been a feature of the park the last time he was here---but he often lived in blind hope. A gambler to the core, one might say. They took a bad jolt as they landed, almost being thrown as if from mounts, it was so heavy. Storm's bike took the worst of it, the wheel had buckled under the compacting pressure and she struggled for control, the problem forcing her to stop before fate took the decision from her and she crashed. Her fists squeezed around the breaks as the bike began to wobble recklessly, soon making it clear that this wasn't going to be the prettiest of stationary action. And she was right; the waterlogged ground delivered the final blow as the bike swayed to the side once to often and skidded onto its side. Ororo parted from the bike before it had chance to trap her leg beneath it, rolling away protectively like she'd been taught long ago by Bishop or Logan, she couldn't remember which. But the action was made all the more difficult by having the added awkwardness of having to hug the satchel to her chest, lest its cargo be damaged.  
  
She eventually came to a stop twenty feet away from where the Harley had, though her brain clearly hadn't received the message as the world still swam about her in interesting circles. The restlessness of the weather slowly dissipated as she relinquished her control on it. She thought for a moment that she heard Remy call her but couldn't quite be certain; the tumble had knocked her hearing temporarily out of sorts too.  
  
The roar of Remy's motorcycle racing towards her soon sorted her ears though, popping the drums back with its mighty din. It came to an abrupt if somewhat grumbling halt just behind her. "Girl, you hurt?"  
  
Storm pushed herself into a sitting position as she resolutely shook her head in answer to his inquiry of care, "No, I am fine."  
  
The spinning finally stopped and as she made to stand up she felt Remy's strong hand close over her left arm to aid her. She stood and looked back at the raised pond, but it was impossible to see what had become of LeEnorme from their current position.  
  
Remy looked to, though his face was stony, not professing an ounce of concern for what may have become of the man. He turned to Ororo, this time his eyes certainly melting into a picture of disquiet; anxiety for his love, "Yo' sure nuhddin bumped, nuhddin' broken?"  
  
She simply nodded, "I'm fine," she said after a time. Sirens began to sound across the stifling city night; the explosion had, rather unsurprisingly, attracted some unwanted attention from the authorities, who were posted liberally around the city for the festivities.  
  
"C'mon petite, get on," Remy shifted forwards on the black leather seat a little as he kicked hard on the peddle in order to get her going again; the bike bursting into angry, growling life. Ororo wordlessly swung around onto the back, clenching her knees to his hips whilst she wrapped her arms tightly about his solid waist. "Let's get de fuck outta 'ere. An' befo'e I fo'get," he started as an after thought, "remin' me not t' let yo' anywhere near mah Harley when we git back t' New York, hien?"  
  
"Oh, shut up and drive!" she chided with a laugh and without further ado, as the hubbub of the encroaching fire-engines and police cars became louder, Remy sped off across the remainder of the park, this time taking a pedestrian footpath that opened a gap with in the perimeter hedge. It led them out onto Orleans Avenue where he took a left, going back on themselves, back in the direction of the carnival and disappearing from view just as the first police officers arrived on the scene.  
  
* * *  
  
The New Orleans Bayou...  
  
Remy hadn't dared to let up on his pace the entire way. He wouldn't be content until they were safely inside Tantie Mattie's swamp-side house and were setting about someway to destroy what they brought back from the depths of human mythology. The bike sped along the final straight of dirt track, coming to a skidding stop right next to the front porch; dust scattered up into a light brown cloud. The pair practically jumped from the bike, letting it crash to the ground as they made haste to the porch door. Remy flung back the screen door; littered as it was with the brittle corpses of moths. But before he could wing it through the hanging veil of beads, Ororo hooked her hand on his shoulder.  
  
He turned, about to bark something in frustration at her holding them up when he was flabbergasted to find her pulling him into a impromptu, hot kiss. For all its breathless brevity, it was satisfying enough. More than satisfying...  
  
"Urr, not dat Remy's complain'," he began, not being able to help the slightly boyish grin on his face, "but what was dat fo'?"  
  
"Because, I knew that you would come through for me in the end," she cupped the right side of his face with a slender hand, as she gazed upon him tenderly, "because I knew that in your heart, you will always do what is right by the world, and those around you."  
  
"Now just you stop it chèrie," he jested with a satirically raised eyebrow, "yo' gonna get dis Cajun boy blushin' rouge?"  
  
"It would be nice to see," she teased with a deadpan look in cool, sultry eyes. He gave her a look; one that she had often seen him flash out for the benefit of a female audience, but there was something more purposeful about it this time around, as though he meant it.  
  
"C'mon," he drawled softly; the brief respite was over, and they went into house, hoping against hope that Mattie would know what to do to this thing to stop anyone from ever being able to use it now or ever again. They ran the short length of the hall and straight into the living room. There appeared to be no-one there at first glance, but as usual, all the candles were lit. She had to be in here somewhere.  
  
"Mattie?" Remy called, immediately ill at ease; something wasn't right, his naturally suspicious mind began to work overtime. He held an arm out stiffly, indicating for Storm not to move any further into the room. The silence was eerie, the crackles and calls sparse tonight. It added to the pervading sense of apprehension. "Where de hell is she?" Remy muttered to himself as he scanned around the small space with narrowed careful eyes; a methodical gaze. "Mattie?" he tried again.  
  
There was a shuffle from in the bedroom. They both looked to their right and from the darkness of the open door, a figure slowly began to shuffle out.  
  
"Why didn' yo' answer when I called Tant'?" Remy asked as he saw her emerge from the soft gloom.  
  
But the ebony woman remained silent; tugging that same saffron shawl about her shoulders as its thin material more-or-less wrapped her entire upper body. "You made it den mah petit garçon," she sounded unusually meek, her whole demeanour somewhat frail---even more so than when they'd left her over a week ago, "I hoped an' prayed fo'---."  
  
"What is it Tantie?" Remy asked gravely, the whole time his hand was edging back the hip of his duster on the right hand side, working its way to his staff.  
  
Her wide, dark eyes glistened with water, swelling around their jaundiced whites, "Remy...I---," she suddenly gasped in a breath, her face contorting with an unknown hysterical air. But she wasn't looking at her surrogate son anymore, she was looking past him, not even at Ororo, the horror was past her too, "REMY IT'S A TRAP!" she screamed wildly, "GET OUT NOW!"  
  
But it was too late...  
  
Remy turned on his heel only in time to see several men emerging from the small kitchen at their back; one of their number was swift enough to catch Ororo in the back of the head with a Billy-club, knocking her clean out instantly.  
  
"STORMY!" he barely had time to call her name in anguish and utter fury at what had been done to her; seeing her lying there in an unceremonious heap made him want to rip the bastards throat out; and he would have were it not for several more coming in from the curtain covered veranda, grabbing Remy at either side before he had chance to do anything. He struggled of course, managing to release one arm and with a quickly snapped off punch, break the man's jaw, sending him spinning but entirely unable to groan his agony through sheer blinding pain. But another soon took his place as Remy's captor, whilst an unseen third assailant swift-kicked him in the back, right between the shoulder blades, knocking the air out of him long enough for the others to contain him, sufficiently this time.  
  
Half sunk to his knees as he regained his breath, Remy felt a stab of ice streak through his heart as he heard familiar laughter coming from where Mattie still stood. That ice soon turned to the flame of anger as Thierry Mauvais stepped out from behind her, coming out from concealment with the smug air of a victor; his prize won. "So fuckin' predictable," he practically murmured, like he didn't think Remy would be as stupid or obvious to come to Mattie for help; his naïveté amused him, if nothing else.  
  
For a moment the flaxen haired man took his gleeful attention away from Gambit and focused on Storm as she lay out-cold, slumped awkwardly on the floor, her arms out spread and her legs practically folded beneath her; not a whisper or shadow of movement to be seen.  
  
"Get de bag," he ordered an anonymous 'worker ant' in a low, no-nonsense fashion to which the boy, of no more than fourteen, fifteen at best duly obliged, "an' take dat t'ing offa her." He meant the flack-jacket, and that too was soon in the process of being removed. After all practicalities had been seen to, he limbered up for the main event...  
  
It was almost a saunter, a swagger, a down-right cocky strut as Mauvais made his way over to Remy, coming to a stop right before him. The way Remy continued to be being held meant he had to look up at him to make eye- contact and oh, how he did detest that. He compensated by making the vitriol of his red irises spit bile, with just a look. "Yo' tell yaw goons t' get dheir 'ands off her now, or I swear Thierry---."  
  
"Yo' swear what garçon? Hien?" he appeared even more smug than usual, like he had something over the X-man, something much more than his outnumbering forces, "yo' gonna ligh' de place wit' a little pink magic? Is dat it?" His hand moved swiftly from behind his back, where they had been clasped in a parody of gentile mannerism, and caught hold of Remy's long fringe to yank his head back with his firm grip. He was completely at his mercy; on his knees, with his arms spread-eagled and in the vice like grip of two men, and Thierry delivering the final humiliation.  
  
"Now, yo' see her," Thierry turned his head to look at Ororo, currently being carried from the room by two thieves, "we knew we 'ad t' get de sorcière temps outta de game as fas' as we could," he turned back to the man at his complete clemency, "bu' why yo;' t'ink we left you in?"  
  
Remy gazed up at him for an age, his brow furrowed and eyes menacingly dark. "Mah sparklin' wit?" he retorted in typically sarcastic, arrogant fashion; even having the balls to quirk his lips in a playful sneer come grin. Though it was in belie of the fury he felt inside, he simply cloaked it---if they did anything to Storm...Well, more than they'd already dared to, for which they would pay dearly, he was sure; internally revelling in their downfall.  
  
Thierry snorted with laughter, looking at someone past his shoulder to share in the equally sarcastic pretence of reverie. But the look soon faded as he tightened his hold on Remy's hair, almost pulling it from the scalp and with his other hand slapped him with the back of it; the metal plates on the back of his gloves adding to its force and effect. As he yanked Remy's head back around to face him, taking a certain amount of pleasure at the sight of red gushing generously from his nose, he was unperturbed by the fact that the arrogant traitor was actually laughing.  
  
He came down close to Remy's face; eyeball to eyeball, "What's a mutie, when it ain't a mutie no more, hien?" his smirk returned as he saw Remy's resolve falter for just a split second, "twice de waste o' space I'd say. Especially in yaw case Gambit, after-all, it was yaw only asset t' de Guild an' anybody else dat was unlucky enough t' get saddled wit' yaw sorry hide," he let go of Remy's hair and took a couple of steps away, "I bet de X-Men don' even want yo' wastin' dheir time no more, homme. Poor ol' Remy--- out on 'is ear again."  
  
"Yo' ain't got de firs' clue 'bout mah life yo' miserable piece o' shit!" Remy drawled in anger, wishing instantly he hadn't given Mauvais the satisfaction, but, once again, he couldn't stop himself from rising to it. He just knew how to push the right buttons in order to hit him where it hurt. Remy pursed his lips, the taste of blood seeping into his mouth, crimson shimmering on his lips as his face throbbed terrifically with the hit.  
  
Thierry regarded him for a moment longer, but barely even bothered to look at him, as if he didn't matter that much when he said, "I know a born loser when I see one garçon, an even if Jean-Luc couldn' see it, I could. It's written all over yo'," he paused and looked upon him with a subtle contempt. "Take 'im."  
  
With a quick, dismissive motion of his hand he order his unit to remove the man that offended him so and went back over to Mattie, who had stood in mute shock throughout the entire ordeal, "So now are yo' gonna come wit' us?" Remy heard him say faintly as he was pulled from the room and out into the still heat of the bayou night.  
  
-TBC- 


	15. Chapter15

Thank-you to turtle dove, ddrinki4, Girlonthem00n, tedabug, Rat and my brand-new stalker Birdiee! ;)  
  
And apologies in advance to anyone who receives over a dozen author alerts for this story at some point in the future, I've just done a spot of editing!  
  
Croix gammée= swastika  
  
**Chapter.15.  
**  
_**Notre Dame Cemetery, the LeBeau family crypt...  
**_  
Everything was set, everything was ready. All they needed now was for the goods to turn up. But so far they had heard nothing from Pierre's team, and not least Thierry, who had gone to persuade Tante Mattie that it would be in her best interests to help the Guild on this very...delicate of matters. Jean-Luc looked from the large hour glass behind him and then back to Lopez sat before him to his right side. Time was being cruelly lackadaisical. A man busied himself behind him at the stone alter, his Master of Ceremonies, decked in a different, more elaborate robe than the other members. But as for the details of what he was doing, LeBeau paid no mind.  
  
This place held a lot of memories for the Monsieur, memories of all kinds. His first Guild meeting as a mere child, even then knowing it was his destiny to one day be head of what was then nothing more than a fledgling clan. He'd seen this family through thick and thin, the thin variety being plentiful of late. Those early days...those early days; the thrill of their maverick nature, trying to carve their own niche in a city defined by the Assassin's and powerful Eternals such as Candra. They'd been good, they'd been exciting, they'd been down right dangerous and he had enjoyed them like any 'young buck' would. But if he'd known then what he knew now...his youth was tainted by his betrayal even in those first days, and it was something he couldn't escape. _His very first_ _betrayal of Remy_. The first of what turned out to be many. And that one, like those since, all in the name of his Guild. Nothing really changed...the boy was right when he'd said that. He really had always been a 'means to an end'. Knowing that, admitting that to himself, along with the raw, fresh imprint of the words he'd shared with Mattie recently, broke his heart. It truly did. As he thought his gaze fell upon the giant stone casket of his father, pride of place with the main room of the crypt. The ice white eyes that stared at nothing, the grim set mouth, the reproachful look...he turned away from it.  
  
Readjusting in his lotus position, closing his mind off to such things, he lent forwards slightly, moving purposely to catch Lopez's attention. "Where are de uddahs?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"De uddahs," Jean-Luc repeated, "the uddah Guilds---why ain't dey here?"  
  
Lopez smirked, tilting his upper body in LeBeau's direction, "Did you really think we would all meet here? On your patch?" he replied with a cold laugh, "Give us some credit Señor."  
  
Jean-Luc continued to regard him darkly as Lopez turned from him and resumed his patient wait. It made sense he supposed, he certainly wouldn't have gathered all interested parties right within the lion's den either. But then again, he was not fortuitous enough to be on the gaining side, this time around. His greatest wish was for the handover to take place as soon as possible, and the thought that Remy would be safely on his way out of New Orleans the only thing to brighten his current mood. At least it kept his mind from wondering on other matters, like what the unified Guilds intended to do with their new found power...He decided it was best if he did not dwell on things he could do nothing to prevent. The odd soft murmur broke the silence and the tinkering of Claude at his back, laying things out on the black velvet cloth that draped the altar.  
  
Then all sounds within the crypt stopped, several people where approaching the room, thundering quickly down the main steps that led down to this dank grim place of the dead. Everyone silently perked up in expectation, pulses speeding under impassive, unflinching veneers. All eyes fixed on the open doorway as the long shadows of several bodies spilled down the steps. Lopez was on the verge of standing up in reflex to his tension when confusion followed by a certain amount of ire overtook his anticipation.  
  
"Miguel," he hissed, jumping to his feet for real this time as his elder brother and several of his Guild filed into the room, "What is it?! Has something happened?"  
  
The small armed troop ambled to a stop half-way up the central isle, nobody around them moving, the hooded members of the native Guild barely even bothering to look up at them. Even Jean-Luc settled back, instantly releasing that this was something between the brothers and of no concern to him. He was content to watch as events unfolded.  
  
"Maybe you could tell me, brother," he spat the last word out as he tossed the gold coin at his younger sibling.  
  
Pedro caught it one handed, all the while his dark, crisp gaze never left his brother. He gripped the coin in the palm of his hand and turned it over, getting a feel of it. He appeared to be completely unmoved as he looked down at it, studying it for several minutes before fixing his brother once more.  
  
"What the hell is this Miguel," he said in a sonorous tone, "Some kind of joke?"  
  
"If it's a joke, then nobody is laughing, I assure you." He walked forwards, coming within yards of Pedro, "We want an explanation---and we want one _now_."

_**

* * *

**_

_****_

_**Outside...**_  
  
No sooner had his body hit the floor, falling heavily into a small nest of the tall dry grasses that carpeted the cemetery, than Remy felt himself being dragged back up onto his feet by the two monkeys that had tied the thick rope around his wrists and bound his hands behind his back. They hadn't taken any particular care when they thrown him into the back of the jeep back at the shack, only giving him a moment to observe Tante Mattie being taken into an adjacent car where a still unconscious Ororo was slumped in the back, her head collapsed onto her shoulder at an odd angle. It hadn't taken then long to get here to the LeBeau crypt, just fifteen minutes or so at high speed along the winding dirt tracks that were flanked on either side by the potentially deadly swamps. One slight swerve or misjudged bend and...well, it was a good job these men knew this place like the back of their hands.  
  
He turned to his left as he was yanked into an upright position as Thierry swiftly manoeuvred out of the passenger seat of the blue car and grabbed hold of the back passenger door as he kicked his shut with a resounding slam. "Come on chère," Remy heard him in a murmur from this distance and over the rattling sounds of others getting out of their jeeps, engines warming down with restless growls, "outta de car."  
  
Remy tried to halt himself, digging his heal into the ground as he craned his neck as far round as it would go but there were too many cars in the way now, too many bodies milling about. He jerked his body as the men at either side of him attempted to pull him forwards, prompting a hail of dirty Cajun at him from the two that he didn't recognise. But that wasn't a surprise; he hardly knew any of the members of his former crew now. That did mean they didn't know him and the tails of his dishonour---it was enough for them to have formulated their opinions of him in stone. He managed to hold them from taking him into the crypt for one more moment, enough for him to get a glimpse of a still limp Ororo being dragged arms first out from the other side of the car that Mattie had now gotten out of.  
  
His anger didn't have much chance to spark as a smarting blow reigned down from his left side, one of several he'd received on the way down there for every smirk and smart-arsed quip. But this one, right on his temple, was forceful enough to have him seeing stars. Ever the stoic, Remy laughed it off, "Dat de bes' you got, homme?" he grinned drunkenly at his assailant, white, red and yellow flashes exploding in his vision, causing him to try and blink them away.  
  
"Why don' you jus' zip it," the mousey haired young man sneered, adding for good measure, in muttered insult, as if not quite having the guts to say it allowed, "fuckin' freak o' nature."  
  
"V'ry original---I wuz jus' wonderin'," Remy began, as if about to ask a genuine question, "where's yaw '_croix_ _gammée'_, mutha-fucker," he finished, taunting snidely, quickly preparing himself for another punch that he would gladly have taken. But he was saved from such action by an unlikely source.  
  
"Now, now boys, if I can't leave you three t' play nice." Thierry came up on the right side of the trio as they headed down onto the crypt, equally as taunting, his irreverence irking, especially to Remy. He laughed, cruelly, at the expression on Gambit's face, one of pure antipathy.  
  
"You'll git what's comin' t' you one day Thierry," Remy seethed, unable to help himself.  
  
"Is dat a promise?" the blonde haired man replied with feigned amiability.  
  
"I stake mah life on it," he replied with a determined and bitter air, all the while struggling to keep his feet flat on the ground and walking, as the men, no boys, at either side of him rushed Remy deeper into the crypt.  
  
Thierry looked straight ahead with the most serious aspect, as he said, in all honesty, "Dat's not much of a wager den."  
  
The multitude of Mauvais' men and women marched dutifully behind this most 'congenial' of quartets, with Mattie flanked by two well-built Thieves and Ororo just behind her. She was being carried hammock-style, her consciousness coming back only in the form of sleepy groans and random yet somehow purposeful twitches.  
  
Down, deeper down they went at an excited speed. Remy tried, and failed several times to get a look back at Storm, but every time he turned his head it was rudely pushed back to face the front.  
  
_Take yaw time Remy, jus' take yaw time---you still holdin' all de aces homme...  
_  
They came to the yawning opening at the end of the passageway, the one that pitched down into the indeterminable darkness of mortal eternity. Remy recognised it, he'd been here on many an occasion, though not for several years hence...But there was no blanket gloom, instead a soft light rose up from the depths, splintering up like the new days sun-rays. And as they came upon it, the exchange of angry voices was apparent.  
  
"Ooh, be soundin' like someone's havin' a 'lover's tiff', non?" Remy goaded.  
  
Thierry scowled down at his grinning nemesis, but said not a word. Indeed, the heated exchange sounding less than promising by the second. The group headed down the stairs.

* * *

Finally Jean-Luc got up from the ground, deciding the argument had escalated far enough. And he certainly was not impressed by what he'd heard so far---if even a fraction of it were true...It didn't bear thinking about. Walking swiftly over to the pair of bickering siblings who were by now pontificating quickly deep into their primary tongue, LeBeau shouted, "One of you 'as got exactly five seconds t' tell me what de fuck is goin' on here!"  
  
It took a few moments for the two men to react to Jean-Luc's bellowing voice, the heated exchanges coming to a stuttering stop, hands stopped pontificating in their own wild gestures and the physical fight that seemed inevitable was held off. For now...  
  
"So," his dangerously dark eyes flicked from one man to the other, whose own menacing stares never faltered from each other, "_What---is---goin'--- on?"_ Seconds with all the unbearable density of the air passed, San Diego Thieves stood behind Miguel poised tense, their weapons itching at their sides, but with an air of uncertainty about them. They didn't know which way was up or which was down.  
  
Jean-Luc opened his mouth, about to speak, when the approaching group announced their presence. All in the room temporarily forgot the stand-off, looking to the steep steps. But LeBeau's internal relief was short lived when he saw who was directly behind Thierry as he entered the room first with his usual assured composure.  
  
"What's dis homme?" Mauvais didn't miss a beat as he addressed Jean-Luc but had a steady finger pointed at the standing group in the centre of the isle. He moved off around them, continuing towards his leader.  
  
But Jean-Luc ignored his question; his darkening eyes fixed on Remy as he was frog-marched quite succinctly into the crypt, followed quickly by Mattie.  
  
"What de hell is 'e doin' here?!" Jean-Luc roared uncharacteristically; even a flicker of surprise flittered across Thierry's face, but only the briefest.  
  
"Dere was a..._problem_," he told Jean-Luc diplomatically, glancing behind at the X-Man who'd been brought up to a stop just behind him.  
  
Jean-Luc had his furious gaze fixed obsessively on his son the entire time; the still wet smear of crimson glistening down the front of his face from his nose all the way down to his chin. Remy returned the gaze, completely impassive---a dark coldness that sent a chill through his father. Even him, a man who had seen more horrors than he cared to recall...  
  
"Dey mus' o' taken out Pierre's team," Thierry continued by way of explanation but not evincing an ounce of defence or justification, "we were at Mattie's---dey turned up," he stated. He turned to Remy, adding with a quiet callousness, "Jus' like we knew dey would."  
  
LeBeau senior regarded the two men for a moment, the unspeakable antipathy that surrounded them perceivable. He fixed Remy, although he remained glued in a battle of wills with Mauvais, _"Is dat true?"  
_  
His father's voice resounded in his mind but he felt himself paralysed for a time, paralysed by hatred. His own capacity for it scared him at times... "We were set up," he growled deeply before slowly transferring his hateful ebony and red eyes over to Jean-Luc.  
  
"What de fuck d'you mean garçon?" Jean-Luc returned in a similar tone, "All I wanna know is if you an' yaw crony took out LeEnorme an 'is team?"  
  
"Oui," Remy replied quickly.  
  
His mind flittered somewhere between confusion and utter fury at a deep down instant realisation, "Why?" he asked regardless.  
  
"Who cares?!?" A thunderous and irritated voice cut in. It took Jean-Luc a second or more to register that it was Pedro; the rest of the room and the other fractures had somehow fallen away. "Did he bring it?"  
  
"Yah, we did," Thierry answered as he motioned automatically with his hand for someone to pass him the bag. A quick skittering of feet in the tensely silent room and then the satchel was there, its sure weight in his grasp.  
  
All eyes in the room where now on the bag. That simple bag that contained so much... One could have heard a pin drop, not event the air stirred with the movement of breath. Even the agitated Miguel was subdued into a semblance of calm...for now. For what seemed to be one painfully prolonged step at a time Lopez began to make his way over to Thierry, running a tentative tongue over his dry bottom lip. After an age he was face to face with Mauvais, practically quivering with anticipation at this most suddenly informal of handovers. It was as if they were merely passing something completely inconsequential; the hum-drum lot of a thief's average swag.  
  
"I wouldn' do dat if I were you, homme."  
  
The deep drawl was alien in the quiet of the atmosphere, dozens of heads turned to Remy; his face stony and unreadable but with red irises that fumed bright.  
  
"Why?" Jean-Luc asked suspiciously as he moved unerringly past Lopez and Mauvais to face up to his son.  
  
"Remy's seen wit' his own eyes what dat t'ing can do," he said gravely, with an unusual amount of sincerity, "an it ain't pretty."  
  
Jean-Luc regarded his son for a moment, shifting his weight as he folded his arms over his chest, his uniform creaking loudly, "An' what it dat...exactly?" He raised a slightly sceptical eyebrow, still mad and confused at why he'd felt the need to run from LeEnorme and go to the extreme of 'wiping-out' the entire unit. What game was he playing? And again that nagging distrust that lurked but never truly surfaced began to rear its ugly head...It was difficult for him to trust anyone fully, even family.  
  
"Trust me on dis one," Remy said as if reading that familiar look in his father's dark eyes; one that he had seen more times than he cared to remember. "You don' want 'im," he nodded in a sharp jerk over to Lopez, "or anyone else t' use dat t'ing."  
  
"What the hell is he talking about?!" Lopez spat contemptuously, his eagerness to get his hands on those ancient secrets, that awesome power beginning to overwhelm him; he struggled abortively to contain it. "Give it to me!" He just about resisted making a grab for it from Thierry's grip...  
  
"He is right."  
  
A new voice entered the fray; somewhat groggy but still with its tell-tale dulcet power. Again, all eyes turned, trigger-fingers became even itchier, and tempers were starting to fray on all sides; the tension impenetrable, the taste thick. Ororo finally managed to keep her head up this time, after several failed attempts to rouse herself. Everything still held a blurred edge for a moment as she tried to focus; the blinding throb at the base of her skull making it difficult to concentrate or hold onto anything for long. She didn't recognise where she was, the subdued lighting bouncing off stone walls was entirely unfamiliar to her but the one thing she could tell was that where ever it was, it was underground. The atmosphere was too compressed for it to be otherwise; the pressure weighted down on her as if she were underwater. It was an eerily familiar feeling...She looked up at the sea of hard staring faces, like finding her way through dark tree trunks, searching through for only one. She found him quickly; bloodied and bruised, but mercifully in tact. She caught the vague softening of his features as he locked with her drowsy gaze from across the room..."It is dangerous," she continued, "we have already witnessed the destruction it can lay in its wake."  
  
Thierry snorted, thoroughly unimpressed, "So you say," he cast a dirty look at both of them before turning to address Jean-Luc, "it wouldn' surprise me if de t'ree o' dem were in it together," he threw a look towards Mattie, "maybe dey know someone else wit' an interest in dis, non?"  
  
Remy let out a sarcastic laugh at the suggestion but didn't bother to rebuke something so ludicrous; the idea didn't dignify a reply. It seemed that Jean-Luc thought on similar lines for he simply gave Mauvais a dismissive look and no more.  
  
"What ever is going on between you and him," Lopez piped up, sensing the definite air of stalling as he jabbed an angry finger from Remy to Jean-Luc and the bulk of the New Orleans clan, "is of no consequence. Everybody is aware of the deal here---you hand it over and your clan is absolved, your loyalty proven."  
  
"Loyalty my ass!" Thierry spat at him; he'd had enough of the charade, his silence on the matter had been kept for too long..."We wonna know what dis is really about Lopez---we ain't content t' be played no longer."  
  
"Thierry---."  
  
"No, he is right!" Miguel finally rediscovered his voice, never having lost his ire. "I think we'd all like to know what is going on here...what traitors we have in our midst." Things were rapidly escalating into anarchy...  
  
"Why don't you let me answer that?"...  
  
And in no more than the blink of an eye there was a gun shot; one powerful shot that had Miguel Velasquez Lopez falling to his knees, clutching at the side of his neck in a vain attempt to stop the massive loss of blood as it spilled like a fountain over his hand, joining him on the floor as he flopped face down onto the stone isle. Perhaps it was just shock but nobody seemed to move for a long while, transfixed by the sight of the young dark eyed girl; her hands still clutched around the gun pointing straight out, her features expressionless.  
  
"Jacqueline?!" Pedro gasped in confusion; a barrage of thoughts ran over him, the foremost being one of appreciation; her allegiance proved in his eyes, but still, Miguel was his brother... Why?!?!  
  
"No," she smirked, turning her weapon onto him, "Not Jacqueline."  
  
Remy caught the change in the girl's eyes before anyone else, recognising its significance immediately as burning sapphire overtook the sultry brown with acidic potency..."MYSTIQUE!" he raged; stirring Ororo instantly as the only other person there to realise the true threat...  
  
With all of their training none of them, save for the two X-Men, could have been prepared for what would transpire. Assassins, yes; they had encountered them all, but none such as they were about to face now. She took out the men at either side of Lopez first of all; two clean shots to the centre of the head. It was only then that offensive action was ordered against her, in which time she literally revealed her true colours...Her exposed face and hands reverted to their natural deep blue; a Prussian tone as she leapt high into the air to avoid the barrage of bullets directed at her. Coming down she swift-kicked the thief to her left of her, right in the midriff. Of which clan she hailed, she did not know and did not care; her sights were set on one thing. Thierry tried to be ready for her but she was simply too quick...  
  
Remy debated with himself, just like he had all those years ago; do I use them or non? It would only take the merest charge to break his binds, but after so long without his abilities...he couldn't be sure whether he could wield them with the skill that he once did....those nerves there, _just like they were the first time...  
_  
But for Storm there was no such hesitation. She shook off the last of her dizziness and freeing herself of her two captors was, in truth, no real problem; as soon as the white sparks began to surround her and her eyes became lightening orbs, they were none to keen to keep a hold on her anyway. The summoning of a wind took everyone by surprise, especially the San Diego contingent, as it swept through the crypt, knocking several of them backwards; caught up in their robes or robbed them of their weapons.  
  
All of this distraction though gave Thierry and company chance to make for the exit, along with the most precious of prizes; Lopez having momentarily forgotten about the importance of why he was here, personal preservation taken precedence. It was only when he saw the thing he had mistaken for Jacqueline making her way towards them as they made off with the cargo that he was roused into the offensive. He pulled the gun secured to his hip, thumbing back the trigger quickly and with ease but struggled to focus on his target with her unnaturally agile movement and the artificial wind that blew against him, making him purse his eyes to the barest of slits. He tried his hardest to take aim...  
  
Having fully regained her faculties, Ororo was the last hope between the retreating Thierry and the advancing Mystique as she sprinted towards him, dodging the random hail of bullets that sped towards her from those not pole-axed by Storm's wind or taken out by the mutant assassin herself. The X-Man picked up speed as she darted headlong, the thieves passing by her in their escape, destined for a certain collision with her genetic kin. Both women leapt into the air, leading with their feet. Storm hit first; connecting with Darkholme's left hip and sending her spinning. But her inbuilt acrobatics allowed her to roll with the hit; landing on all fours on the ground. Her gun went skittering off along the ground, but it was of no consequence as she bolted forwards at Ororo, drawing out her trusty blade from her inside breast pocket as she went, preparing for their tête-à- tête.  
  
"It's been a long time X-Man!"  
  
"Not nearly long enough!" Ororo countered dryly as she made to parry the blow flying towards her by knocking Raven's forearm to the side but she simply wasn't quick enough, the fatigue of her earlier injury taking those crucial few seconds away from her...Darkholme was on top of her game still and not only did she avoid Storm's blow but managed to catch her with her viciously serrated blade, slicing into her exposed upper-arm with ease. The weather witch gritted her teeth to stop the cry of pain that threatened, not willing to give her heartless opponent the satisfaction as she fell back against the side of one of the tall stone coffins, holding her arm as it bled profusely...  
  
_It was time...now, it was time....  
_  
Remy could feel his entire body shake; nerves, fear, anger, the excursion? He did not know and he was rapidly losing the capacity to care; it had angered him enough to see Mattie cowered behind a tomb to avoid the dangerously haphazard gun fire, all of which missed the ever cunning Mystique and ended in comrades. And now Ororo rendered hopeless, trying to stop the bleed; had the knife caught an artery? There seemed so much blood...He gave the fire free reign, the men that still held tight to him even amid the chaos, frightened, green, did not notice until the last possible moment. A bright magenta glowed behind him, almost enveloping his entire body with its sprightly glow. He had to concentrate...it had been such a long time and it was only now that he truly believed..._They were back_...The pain, the thrill the intense heat...  
  
_"Jésus!"  
_  
The boy to his left let go of Remy's arm as he noticed, at last, the crackling hands of Gambit; the power they had been told was lost was there, plain for all to see, dangerous as any weapon they possessed...The younger of the two finally noticed the latest development; reeling away just in time before the restraints that had so successfully bound Remy's arms gave in to the kinetic energy imputed into them, the atoms they consisted of vibrating until they could vibrate no more and simply had to release the latent force. With a tremendous bang, the like of which rarely accompanied his more controlled explosions, the restraints flew out, disintegrating into nothing as they went, but not before catching his two guards with their hot remnants; a shower of scolding shrapnel causing them to hold their faces part in protection and part in agony at the places they had failed to cover in time.  
  
Remy ignored the burn marks left on his own skin from the action, reminded of the times he'd felt it before and able to block the pain it caused as if it had triggered his old safe-guards. His only focus now was Mystique, as she continued in her one-woman ambush of Thierry and those that had rallied to protect him and the Carcoccia; his father amongst them. He knew they stood no chance against her, for all of their skill...He searched quickly with his perceptive eye for something, anything that he could charge as he ran towards the steps where the battle for possession was taking place. It was amazing to see so many experienced 'soldiers' out-matched by this one woman; thief after thief mowed down by her concentration and physical skill as well as with her expertly wielded knife that left many of them with at least serious injury, if not worse...Finally his eye fell upon a litter of spent cartridges from the perfunctory fire of the San Diego clan. He stooped down, collecting a hand full as he advanced; his refreshed powers immediately firing them up with the usual colour.  
  
"Hey!" he hollered above the shouts and vocal bedlam, "Bitch!"  
  
At the familiar voice Raven turned, just in time to see the hail of charged cartridges flying towards her with at least or perhaps more lethal potential than they imbued originally. She spun out of the way, pirouetting expertly to dodge most of Remy's arsenal, but one or two did catch...only lodging themselves in the protective body armour she wore. When they exploded they left nothing more than black dints in the hardwearing material. It may have only been a distraction in the end but it was enough for Thierry and co to make their escape up the passage way and out of the confining space of the tomb.  
  
Pedro and his cronies, what was left of them after Mystique's devastation, were not far behind, though they hadn't managed to exit before the mutant herself had gone off in hot pursuit of them. Remy ran too, not content to leave it up to them to overcome her but he was stopped in his own concern as he passed Mattie, still crouched between the space at the side of a great 'sarcophagus' and the wall.  
  
"You okay, girl?" he asked anxiously, crouching quickly at her side. She simply nodded frantically though her eyes remained wide with shock and her voice having deserted her; though nothing less was expected under the circumstances. But Remy didn't have time or occasion to dwell, he'd just have to hope that she could hold up until he could return to her. He didn't want to leave her down here, surrounded by the dead and dying but he had little choice. He had to get to Mystique; the Guild having the Carcoccia was bad enough, the thought that that scheming, nefarious menace had an interest in possessing it was somehow far worse...The shouts and gunfire continued all along the passageway out of the crypt, he had to get out there...  
  
"Remy," a weary voice called from behind him, "we must stop her!"  
  
Gambit turned with surprise to see Ororo making her way as fast as she could towards the exit but her balance was off; the effects of loss of blood no doubt as the crimson still coursed from her arm with worrying persistence, coating her skin and soaking her clothes a darker black.  
  
"You ain't goin' nowhere petite!" he warned darkly as he grabbed her as gently as he could, setting her down to the floor...his mind was divided as the battle continued, the sounds fading for a moment but the concern not.  
  
"Remy, I have to help," she insisted, her words becoming slightly slurred as she collapsed back against the steps, "they don't stand a chance against her."  
  
"I know dat, chèrie," he said gravely, "bu' needuh do you like dis---you lost a lotta blood." He prized her hand away from her arm, wincing angrily at the deep weeping gash beneath. He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched tensely; he couldn't conceive of the damage he wanted to inflict on that woman for this... the revelation that she'd somehow been involved in this all along at once making things all the more confusing and the consequences all the more devastating. But that wasn't the only revelation of astonishment to come to light today...  
  
"How long have you known?" Ororo asked between slow pants, her eyelids to heavy to keep open...  
  
"Since de boat," Remy mumbled quickly as he ripped a piece off the bottom of Ororo's t-shirt and made a tourniquet with it around her arm, as tight as he could.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me," she said quietly as she prized her eyes open, looking him dead on.  
  
He avoided her gaze for a moment, tucking the last piece of material into the makeshift bandage, "It don' madduh," he said matter-of-factly, before wrapping his hand around the back of her head and pressing his lips to hers, hard and true, "I gotta go---don' you move from here, mon brave. I'll be back." He didn't give her chance to argue as he raced up the steps, praying he wasn't too late...

* * *

...but he was. Was it possible that one woman could have caused so much destruction? When it came to this particular one, Remy knew only too well the harm she could cause and in truth it surprised him not one jot to see the ground littered with the dead of both clans. Those left were jumping into the jeeps that were dotted about; the spat up dust of a hasty departure still clung to the stunted air.  
  
"What 'appened?" Remy called as he spotted Jean-Luc climbing into one of the jeeps, with obvious difficulty. It was only when he came up right close to the vehicle that he noticed the indication of a wound, coming through just beneath his breast plate at the bottom of his ribs. "She get you bad?"  
  
"Non," he said shortly as he struggled to intake a breath, indicating the complete lie.  
  
"Poppa---!"  
  
"I'm fine damn it!" he snapped as he sunk back into the passenger seat, "Get movin'!" he ordered with equal terseness to the thief beside him who swiftly revved the sporty jeep up, prompting Remy to leap onto its side holding tightly to the framework as it sped off.  
  
"How she get it?" he asked above the roar of the engine and the whoosh of the wind flying by as their speed rose, rose and rose...  
  
Jean-Luc shook his head, his face looking frightfully ashen and drawn, breaking out into a thick sweat... "It were like dere were ten o' her," he shook his head again in disbelief, remembrance of what he'd seen as she had broken through the barrier of defence like they were nothing...his most experienced men. He would have lost Thierry too if it hadn't have been quick thinking on his part; he rolled back his neck with the snapped up kick which otherwise would have broken several of his vertebrae, "Dere weren't nuhddin we could do..." he lamented, wincing half in pain, half at reliving the sight of her whipping the exposed bag with two quick slices of the thick straps, then taking the lead in this jeep pursuit across the swamp land... 

* * *

  
  
Ororo got up on the steps, her legs a little wobbly but at least the worst of the bleeding had stopped. She had to get out there, no matter what. She had to stop Mystique; the single-minded determination of being an X-leader overcame her...She got outside just as the last jeep sped off into the cloud of dust left as the physical mark of the others. Concentrating hard, for there was no natural wind present for her to draw on, the weather witch created her vital gust from scratch, lifting off to follow the racing line of vehicles that were soon in her sights from above...

* * *

She gripped the wheel one-handed as she pulled out a bundle of paraphernalia. The black cloth wrapped bungle was set out onto the passenger seat as the all important satchel sat close on her lap; the final pay-off from weeks of careful covert planning. But things weren't over yet, the last coup-de-grâce was to be had...Flipping open the carefully tucked in corners the thick cloth rolled out, revealing several untarnished bits of metal. Her focused eyes flitted from the road to the things beside her, occasionally chancing a look in the rear view mirror as she sped over the bumpy terrain. But she'd well and truly got on the jump on them, they were at least a quarter of a mile lagging. Enough time for her to prepare what needed to be done.  
  
Picking up the thickest of the cylindrical metal tubes she gripped it between her knees upright as she began to concentrate on fitting three of the other smaller pieces together to make a kind of cap shaped object, topped by a small dome of clear red plastic. Quickly she slotted the cap onto the top of the length between her knees with a satisfying click. It was primed and ready, it just better work as well as they said it would, she thought with a rare admittance of doubt...She glanced at the rear-view mirror again, noting that they'd caught up somewhat, but they weren't quite close enough for her liking...they needed to be closer, get a real good look at the 'floor-show'...The speed dial flickered dramatically in spasm as Darkholme slowly released her hard press on the gas peddle and the eager chasers drew nearer. She could just see Lopez in the passenger seat of the jeep leading the pack, edging himself up above the black bars of the roof, cocking his gun as he went. She smirked at the sight with all her arrogance, quickly shifting her gaze to the vehicle just behind that one; an anonymous driver and the man she thought she would have finished off with that cynically aimed stab. Perhaps she hadn't reached Jean-Luc's liver after all, never mind...But her face quickly caught in a sneer as she saw the figure next to him, hanging from the side of the jeep, his feet on the side step, trench coat billowing behind him.  
  
_"LeBeau,"_ she ground out, the name bristling with loathing. One day she would do what he never had the guts to, back in that hospital bed...At least she would glean some personal satisfaction from this job; the familiar aspect, along with the disproportionately overblown pay-cheque, the main attraction when the file was handed to her in a back-street café on the newly fashionable west-side of Helsinki, close to two months ago...  
  
The jeep roared up a narrow stretch of dry dirt path, lined by tall wispy trees on one side and the fume-laden thickness of the swamp surface on the other; lit only by the white glow cast down by the burning brilliance of the moon....Lopez took the first shot...it cracked the wind-screen into a crystalline spiders web, sprawling over the glass surface, with just the smallest perfect hole to indicate where the bullet had passed through. Her lip curled into a wicked smile as the fiery tendrils of her red air fluttered back and forth in direct complement to her skin, but that was the only reaction that evinced on her features that the shot had come anywhere near her. Years of experience made one blasé to such occurrences. A hail of them span around her next, hitting the seats with muffled bangs, ricocheting off the vehicles sides and back with jumping sparks, though in places the bullets pierced the black panels as if they were the flimsiest of aluminium cans. Raven soon realised it was now or never...She pressed down hard on the top of the small contraption she'd fitted together, making the clear red plastic on top begin to blink with light, flashing its warning sign in calm regular beats...She grasped the box close to her...  
  
Remy tried his hardest to keep his focus on what Mystique was up to, noticing even from that distance how she was busying herself with something beneath the pale moon light. But what, he could not tell. He couldn't concentrate fully; dividing his attention between her and his injured father. Jean-Luc still had his hand tucked beneath his breast-plate, though he remained stoic on the outside, Remy's sharp eye didn't miss the flickers of pain that darted with the barest passing. And then it occurred to him...he had never before seen his father in pain, the strangeness of seeing this monolith in his life as vulnerable as any other was distinctly unsettling. He wanted to say something, but found any and all words frozen. He pulled his eyes away, focused their dark anger ahead of him, on her. That anger, buried deep within travelled down to his hands, the portals of his gift, and the raw energy fizzed until it became entirely visible...He needed something, again anything would do---he had to see if he still had the touch, the accuracy of all those years of honed practice; at Xavier's and the dark years before...Yet still, the doubt nagged at him, his fear of control or lack thereof. He'd reacted on gut instinct, when all was said and done, back in the crypt after he'd overcome it. But the more he thought on it, the insecurity grew and he became once more fearful of using a power that he hadn't for almost a year until moments ago. He had no idea how that thing had brought it back, but all he was sure of, and had been for the last week, was that he'd never felt the energy with such unapologetic, menacing or savage ferocity. He felt himself that fourteen your old boy again, the one with a monster growing inside him he neither understood, could control, nor wanted---feared letting it out. The marks on his wrists that now throbbed from the flame were a reminder that he lacked his former mastery. But he had to do something; the power ached for release still...  
  
Holding tight to the metal bar as the jeep bumped with recklessness across the rough surface of the perilously skinny path, Remy reached down and gripped at the top buckle of his boots, yanking one off with a forceful pull. It instantly began to glow with that gentle coloured kinetic energy that belied its potential havoc; small enough to travel fast at this distance, big enough to clip the wheel with enough ability to destabilise her jeep. The charge was an extra bonus. Jean-Luc looked up at his son from under sagged tired lids but said nothing; he had come to expect the unexpected as far as his adoptive off-spring was concerned.  
  
As he prepared to throw it with his customary precision, the transparent dark of the swamp thick night seemed to darken with a suffocating inkiness, blotting out the twinkling diamonds set there and dulling the Luna orb into eventual obscurity. Remy and the rest spared a look at the sky, with only Gambit's mouth setting into a wry grin as a peel of thunder rumbled as if it were a calling card. Equal parts worry and admiration ran through the Cajun as he saw the Goddess, his Goddess, high above him, sailing her jet- streams to uncanny perfection; a type of worry that was at once familiar through his years of protective feeling, but now, had a new edge. It was an edge that frightened him and thrilled him...The wind seemed to blow from all directions, bringing with it just an adventitious spit of rain...  
  
He tore his gaze away, back to the matter at hand. He had to throw it---_it was now or never_...but everything seemed to happen so fast it was surreal...There was a break in the rapid fire; a brief respite in the mindless reaction of thugs. Remy took it as his opportunity to bring a little purposeful action. He threw the hot buckle; watched it as it whizzed bright and hardy through the night sky, skimming the earth just barely on its decent as it hit the back wheel of Mystique's vehicle.  
  
Was it before or after?...that was a fact he would debate and agonise over...  
  
The jeep wobbled quickly as the ruddy explosion went off but it appeared to be on that course before Remy's fatal intervention. Whatever the circumstance, it was not long before the car made the catastrophic swerve and pitched into a rock cluster that lined the bend in the narrow swamp path. All breaths caught in throats, hearts were held in mouths at the conclusion as the jeep flipped up into the air in a mist of light dust and with such speed that it was impossible to see anything for its true worth. It would have seemed a simple crash were it not for what came next...  
  
With an eerie dumbness, a blinding light spread from the vehicle as it flipped several times toward a certain fate in the depths of the swamps. It was only afterwards that those present registered the sonic boom that flowed out in waves along with the light of the blast rippling over them; a light of creative force and decimation....all within its grasp....destruction feared and expected with gritted teeth and tight shut eyes...  
  
They all shielded themselves from it with that gut-inept response. Cars skidded to an undignified and indiscriminate stop. The call of gun fire halted, the angry clouds rolled back...It was only then that they dared to watch as they took arms away from their faces to witness the last of Mystique's jeep being swallowed with thick, distilled gulps. What it meant, none present could comprehend...they simply stared as they arrived to the scene, hypnotised, in disbelief...  
  
**-TBC-  
**  
A/N; Well I didn't manage it! I was really hoping to have given Remy his powers back before the comics did but I guess I ran out of time! I haven't read X-treme since the infamous kiss (and those great panels on the ranch ;)) so I don't have much idea what had been going on there in the final issues.  
  
There's still much to come with this story (just to give you all a heads up!), so stay tuned and feedback would be loved and much appreciated, thanks, M'iko, xx


	16. Chapter 16

**Part Two.  
**  
Thanks to turtle dove, Keebler-Elmo, Rat, Girlonthem00, Tedabug, tania, Tannimz and Laura...as for Remy's powers; definitely pre souped-up powers now in attendance.

P.S. Just correcting some of the bloopers, thanks Rat, ;) That will teach me for posting at two in the morning with a few glasses of wine in me, LOL!  
  
**Chapter.16.  
**  
**_The Xavier Institute, Westchester...  
_**  
Closing her eyes, Jean let her head lull back against padded high back of the seat. The row of monitors before her flickered lazily, throwing out a blue light over the dark of the sizable observation room, cutting hard cold lines through-out. The screens showed scenes from all over the mansion from the dorms to the grounds, part of Xavier's improved security since the riot and the siege of the U-Men some months prior. Random beeps and the soft buzz of electrical equipment filled the room, only occasionally joined by the high creak of the chair as Jean leant back in a tired stretch or a half yawn as she tried to stay alert; groaning with subtle satisfaction as she felt her joints ease out. The current scarcity of staff meant they all had to chip in at the moment, with even the most mundane of tasks. But they all agreed, they didn't want to take any chances. The monochrome of the screens flickered on, with their static locations and the still dorms of the sleeping children. All seemed well with the world...  
  
Jean wasn't sure whether it was the warning beep on the panel in front of her or her own highly aware psychic fields that alerted her to the jets presence first. But she soon realised that the high-pitched noise that suddenly erupted in the quiet room wasn't a warning call, but the security systems recognition of one of their own; the X-jet that had been 'AWOL' for the past week and a half. Quickly hitting the button to halt the alarm, the red-head's ruby lips curved into a knowing smile as she pushed her chair over to the screen that over looked the basketball court.  
  
_"Finally_," she half-breathed to herself with relief as she watched the jets somewhat hasty decent; the automatically triggered court-come-hanger doors only just opening in time as the jet headed in; lowering down on strong plumes with a Harrier's uneasy grace. Jean pushed off the long desk that held all the monitoring equipment and rushed from the room, heading toward the catacombs of the mansion.

* * *

"Jeeze!" Jean exclaimed as she unthinkingly punched in her identification code to gain access into the hanger proper. "You guy's sure know how to keep people waiting," the smile was still on her face as she rounded the corner; the sound of a depressurised hiss from the opening top of the jet filling the vast hanger for a moment. The red-head came to a stop just at the side of the jet, her head turned up to watch the pair emerge. She folded her arms over her chest in pretence of haughtiness as she said, "I swear Ororo, if I'd have had to have taken one more Arabic class---."  
  
The jovial look and smart comment quickly faded from her features as Ororo awkwardly began to make her way down the steps that extended down the side of the small slick jet. It only took the briefest of looks from her close friend for her to tell she wasn't anywhere near in the best of shapes.  
  
"Oh my God, Ororo," she automatically reached up to help Storm down the last couple of rungs on the ladder, but with typical stoic insistence she softly batted the helping hand away.  
  
"I am alright Jean," she insisted, though the frailty in her voice said different.  
  
"Like hell you are!"  
  
Jean looked up, almost in surprise as another body emerged after the goddess, forgetting for a moment that Remy was with her; watching as he hoped down from the jet on the other side without the aid of anything. He came rushing around, swinging around the thick leg of the extended front wheel, quickly supporting Ororo whether she wanted him to or not. She did not protest this time.  
  
"What happened?" Jean asked quickly, touching experimentally at the makeshift bandage that was tied about the top of her arm. It was wet beneath her fingers and as she pulled them away she wrinkled her nose at the dark stain that ran over the pale tips.  
  
"I've been stabbed," Ororo said grimly, low with anger in remembrance.  
  
As shocked as she was Jean didn't have chance to say anything in response, as all at once Remy began to move them towards the exit and barked at her with uncharacteristic sharpness, "Git Hank in de medi-lab, now."  
  
"Ur, right," a befuddled Jean responded, "sure... I'll call Annie too." As she followed the pair out of the hanger she began to forge her contact with her medically astute comrade.

* * *

**_The Medi-lab..._**

**__**

**__**

**__**

Hank sauntered into the lab, rubbing his left eye with fatigue but half in a shielding motion against the harsh sterile light; bright white refraction blasting in stereo from the relative dullness of the corridor. He eventually replaced his clear framed spectacles to see Ororo sat on one of the hard plinth like tables, with Jean just in front of her carefully unwrapping a mangy looking black rag from around her arm. Remy was pacing slowly at the back of the room by the row of floor to ceiling medicine cabinets, still in his Guild garb but sans the trench-coat; his bare arms folded tensely across the smooth sheen of the magenta breast plate. But Hank didn't spare him much of a glance as he strode purposefully over to Storm, taking over from Jean in the unveiling of the wound. The whole room had a drably quiet atmosphere.  
  
"Need I ask?" Hank said drolly as he continued the unwinding. Ororo said nothing, simply staring intently as the gash was finally revealed. He was becoming grimly blasé about having to treat his closest friends for wounds, resigned to it.  
  
"Mystique," Remy ground out as he came forth from the relative shade of the far side, letting Hank see for the first time his own incurred injuries that dotted obliquely, mainly about his face.  
  
"Mystique?!" Jean parroted reflexively as she and Hank gave him a look of simultaneous confusion and astonishment. "What the hell did it have to do with her?" It was the first they'd heard of her since her break-out from the secure S.H.I.E.L.D facility months ago. Realistically, it was only a matter of time before she surfaced again with her hazardous skulduggery, to obvious detriment.  
  
"We do not know," Ororo replied, giving Remy a quick look as he came up at her side.  
  
"Whatevah it is," Remy said, "It ain't good."  
  
"Not that it really matters that much anymore," Ororo added quickly.  
  
"What do you mean?" Hank said distractedly as he prodded carefully at her wound to ascertain its severity, provoking a quick pained wince from the weather witch.  
  
"Don' start dis again," Remy muttered towards Ororo.  
  
"Remy, we both saw---," she started to protest.  
  
Remy shook his head rigorously, a cynical grin on his lips, "If I'd seen de body then yeah, maybe I'd believe it."  
  
"There is no way anybody would have survived that," she shot back assuredly.  
  
"Any uddah person an' Remy would'a agreed wit you..._but her_---."  
  
Hank coughed loudly and deliberately, distracting them from their increasingly heated to and fro, "Would one of you mind telling us what's going on here?" Hank asked with Xavier's style of calm yet forceful authority. Remy and Ororo exchanged long dark looks, making Jean and the good doctor feel all the more as if they were on the outside looking in on something that they did not understand. The tension became increasingly thick in the preternatural hush of the sterile room, only the background hum of the medical machines that remained on constant stand-by reverberating with their own soft song. The spell was quickly broken however with the hissing noise of the medi-lab door sliding open and several figures emerging through. The school nurse Annie led the group, quickly followed by Scott and Warren, and Professor Xavier himself bringing up the rear. All of them hollow eyed with abruptly interrupted slumber, dressing gowns tossed quickly on, ruffled hair, adamantly trying to look alert.  
  
"Anything I can do?" Annie broke the silence uncertainly, at times like these feeling herself the outsider all the more than she usually did. The others milled into the room, settling in various places; Scott going over to Jean whereon they started a quiet conversation betwixt themselves that seemed more a question and answer session with the red heads quick nods and shakes to curtly put questions.  
  
"You can see to Remy if you wouldn't mind, my dear," Hank answered her as he motioned over to the Cajun who had slunk quietly back into the shadow of the medicine cabinets, leaning back against the wall in the small space allowed between two of the huge storage units.  
  
"Dere ain't nuhddin wrong wit me," Remy countered quickly as Annie made her way over to him.  
  
"Oh really," Annie replied sceptically as she went to the cabinet and automatically whipped out a pair of latex gloves from the box that always sat on the sideboard, "well your face says different, Buster." The gloves smacked loudly as she pulled them on and let them snap back.  
  
Remy grinned satirically but did as she bade as the qualified nurse pointed playfully but sternly at the other examination table. He petulantly pushed himself off the wall and hopped up onto it promptly, submitting to her curious fingers as they explored the bad bruising on his face, the dark and nasty ghost of blood stains still clinging to the deeply tanned skin.  
  
"Shall I get hooked up?" Warren asked as he followed Hank's progress from the nearest supply cabinet with the suturing kit and fresh bandages. "I presume that's why I'm here," he said through half-stifled yawn, covering his gaping mouth with his hand, his tremendous wings wafting slightly beneath his slightly accommodating dressing gown with reflexive motion as he did so.  
  
"Yes, of course," Hank bumbled, forgetting in his own tired state that stitches would not be needed in the light of Warren's latest mutation. Throwing the kit gently back onto the sideboard he went over to where the drips and IV lines were stacked in the corner of the room instead.  
  
But Warren was stopped half-way through shrugging his plush navy dressing- gown, readying himself for being hooked up to the equipment, when Remy piped up, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, what's dis?" He flung a causal finger in Archangel's direction.  
  
"A blood transfusion," Hank explained, "It'll have the two of you fixed up in---."  
  
Remy shook his head vigorously, a somewhat nervous smile on his face as he pushed Annie's hands away from checking his nose for a fracture, "Non. I don' t'ink so mon ami."  
  
"Oh Remy, do not be so ridiculous," Ororo laughed gently, herself more than willing to undergo the transfusion to rid herself of her smarting laceration.  
  
"It's perfectly safe my friend," Hank concurred as he daubed a pad of cotton wool with a clear liquid and wiped it over Ororo's gash just to clean it and minimise the chance of any infection already setting in. "Why, it did save the lives of several of our students some weeks ago."  
  
Warren carried on taking off his dressing-gown, giving his penned-in wings the chance to breath; a flurry of lose snow white feathers falling to the ground as he did so with beautiful delicacy. "Come on, it's not like I'm gonna give you anything Remy." He threw his gown over the back of a near-by stool, mumbling lightly under his breath, "Though I couldn't say the same if it was the other way around."  
  
"_Warren!"_ Jean chastised but couldn't halt her laugh in time despite pressing her fingers to her lips.  
  
"Ha, ha, v'ry funny homme," Remy dead-panned back, _"Will you quit it?!"_ he snapped, pulling his arms away and turning his attention markedly back to Annie as she now tried to examine the light burns about his wrists. They weren't too serious, the trained nurse could gage that from the most superficial of glances, but the skin had become somewhat red and wrinkled, as if they'd been briefly scolded by boiling water.  
  
But the dark haired, pale skinned woman was given no choice other than to throw her hands up in surrender, "You try and help people 'round here and all you get is attitude," she said, exasperated.  
  
"Don't worry Annie, you'll get used to it," Hank appeased in his own satirical manner, having experienced on more than one occasion Remy's baffling reluctance to except medical assistance of any kind. He cast a weary look at Gambit before going over to Warren who'd in the meantime set himself up in the usual seat, waiting for the IV line to be administered. He was getting quite used to being the resident blood-bank at the mansion, the services of his miraculously healing blood having been called for on more than one occasion so far. Plenty more would un-doubtfully come his way in the future.  
  
As things settled and unnecessary protests died, Scott moved away from Jean, taking a place between the two X-Men on examination tables. With his unconscious dominant stance; legs slightly parted, muscular arms sternly folded, he started, "Okay, enough with the small talk---you two feel like explaining yourselves?"  
  
Remy looked up and huffed a small laugh, _"Explainin' oursel'es?"_ he repeated incredulously, unconsciously pulling his shoulders back a little, "We ain't kids homme---we don' need no permission slip fo' 'field trips'."  
  
"No," Xavier spoke for the first time, having waited patiently for long enough, "but you've clearly run into trouble. Would you care to shed any light?" He looked with those habitually calm, passive eyes from one to the other, awaiting an answer.  
  
It was Ororo who spoke first, Remy remained sullen, defiant; the stiffness of his posture unconsciously mirroring Scott's, tense arms folded. "Could we please leave the post-mortem until the morning Charles?" she asked wearily, not at all in the mood for yet another 'set-two' between Remy and their mentor; or her and their mentor for that matter, if it came to it.  
  
"I'm sorry Ororo," Scott came in, addressing her directly in a more cordial manner, with a natural respect of a fellow X-leader, "but this can't wait—they've told us as much as they know about what was happening, about the Carcoccia, and I've gotta say, it isn't encouraging."  
  
"Isn't dat encouraging?" Remy mocked as he unfolded his arms, resting his weight evenly by spreading his palms flat on the table at either side of him, "Now you really are takin' dis teachin' gig way too seriously, homme," he snipped somewhat facetiously, "You an' Red evah t'ink 'bout takin' a holiday?"  
  
"We can put your mind to rest about that right away," Ororo said quickly before Scott and Remy really had the chance to start bating each other in true style, "as there is no longer anything left to worry about."  
  
"In what way?" Charles asked, intrigued as he made his way over to an available seat to rest his weak and weary legs, easing down gently.  
  
"It was destroyed...whatever it was...before the Guild had chance to use it- --."  
  
"I saw it, but I still don' _believe_ it chère," Remy cut in soberly as he looked over at Ororo once more, his gaze grave.  
  
"Look," Scott said sharply enough to jolt everyone's attention back to him, "I understand that things happen that don't have anything to do with the X- Men. The messes you get yourselves into have nothing to do with us or the Institute. But sometimes, it spills over, an' then we're left to deal with it." Any sense of camaraderie or protection that he felt towards team-mates was temporarily overridden by his ire.  
  
"I promise you Scott," Ororo said before wincing slightly as Hank inserted the drip into the silvery blue vein he'd just tapped out in the crook of her arm at the elbow, "there is nothing left to deal with---the box was destroyed...and so was Mystique."  
  
"What the hell did Mystique have to do with all this?!"  
  
"We have no idea," Ororo explained, "but both her and the box ended up in the swamp—and that is the last we saw of them."  
  
Scott's jaw dropped a little, enough for it to be almost comical, "Mystique's dead?"  
  
"We think so," Storm replied somewhat breathily as Warren's blood began to course through her veins, replacing her own. Her head felt light, as if she were in danger of passing into unconsciousness imminently, but she knew full well that she wouldn't. Hank had still to fathom, like many things that had evolved with his X-colleagues of late, including himself, how Warren's blood would successfully cross match with any blood-type in order to produce its healing effect.  
  
"You _think_ so?" Scott asked doubtfully as he turned to address Ororo specifically. Confidence was not greatly inspired by the tone of her voice. Think? Scott Summers was one for certainty, and certainty alone.  
  
"Yes," she responded sternly, fixing Cyclops with hard glassy eyes, temporarily forgetting her fatigue; Warren's blood beginning to have the desired effect already it seemed. But then her indignation at Scott's doubt was swiftly replaced wit a concern that had only just, at that moment, occurred to her, "Somebody should really tell Kurt." Poor Kurt. Whatever her faults, Raven was his mother, if only in biological terms...the woman was his still his mother...He deserved to know.  
  
"De car crashed—an' dere was an explosion. We saw her go into de swamp but dat's it—dere wasn't no body."  
  
Scott shook his head, quickly trying to take on board all these facts along with the added insanity of the idea that one of the X-Men's greatest, trickiest and oldest foes might actually be dead. Magneto _AND_ Mystique within months of each other? Could it be possible? "So, you're tellin' me that you trekked half-way across the Amazon, to find some...mystical 'who—harr', or whatever, and when you finally got it back to New Orleans, Mystique turned up to steal it?"  
  
"Oui, you got a problem wit dat mon ami?"  
  
Scott turned pointedly towards the Cajun, not completely admiring his tone, "As it happens I do. When members of my team decide that giving a powerful object to a corrupt organisation is a good idea then yeah, I really do have a problem with that."  
  
"We never planned to let them have it—."  
  
"Like I already said, we don' need t' explain ourselves t' you homme," Remy barged in defiantly, cutting through Storm's attempt at diplomacy.  
  
"I beg to differ, LeBeau."  
  
"Really?"  
  
The two X-Men squared off to each other, Scott coming up closer to the taller man, causing Annie to back off slightly as her lover's brother approached, fearing she might be about to witness one of the infamous 'inter-clan' fights that were apt to flare up every once in a while.  
  
"Yeah really," Scott shot back finally; Remy's irreverence and flippant attitude getting to him more and more by the second; really sticking in his craw. Perhaps a few home truths were called for about now, after years of holding his tongue for the simple sake of group harmony, despite the fact that he'd never made a secret of his distain for the Cajun. "Listen, we've put our trust in you time and time again. I've—we've---given you the benefit of the doubt, but I can't see where the favour has ever been returned."  
  
"Scott, this isn't the time or place—."  
  
"No Charles, somebody has to say this," Scott was adamant in the face of his mentors protest; a rare occasion whereon he raised his voice at the man who took him in, "I don't wanna pull rank here but it's about time someone pointed out to him that we're not here to support his errant sojourns whenever the fancy takes him, putting the lives of other X-Men," he pointed sharply at Ororo in indication as Hank began to unhook the IV line from her arm, as much blood as he felt safe having been transferred, "at risk."  
  
"I make my own decisions Scott," Ororo rebuked. She pressed the cotton wool pad to the area where the drip had gone in, bending her forearm up as she administered the pressure and simultaneously hopped down from the chair. She spared a quick glance at her former lesion; only the faint impression of a slit there to mark the skin and that was swiftly fading with all the miraculous speculation of Wolverine's healing factor, now an aspect of Warren too. Within seconds there was no longer the hint of the inflicted wound, just smooth cocoa skin as it was before. "Can we please leave this—."  
  
"Non, non 'Roro," Remy waved her off, "Let him 'ave 'is say. 'Cause I mean, let's face it, Scottie boy 'ere an' jus' about everyone else 'as got me pegged, righ'?" he cast a look at everyone in turn; guilty looks and confrontational stares abound, and downright confusion from Annie.  
  
"Remy," Scott said most pointedly, "we have been here for you through thick and thin. All the faith, the friendship, the trust...and what do we get in return?" A mousey eyebrow raised sharply above the smooth curvature of his titanium crafted visor. "Very little, it seems," he answered to his own admittedly rhetorical question.  
  
"You know me Scottie," he said, practically sneering, "Nuhddin mor' dan a liar an' a t'ief---what mor' did you expect?"  
  
Scott was more than prepared to play the Cajun's game, to call his bluff, not ever having been one to back down from anything. "Exactly---what else should we have expected from a thief with the moral clarity of a sewer?"...and by the time he'd said the words and realised their significance, it was too late... "Remy, I didn't mean---."  
  
"_Save it_, mon ami," Remy warned; the tension in the room now palpable. It was a struggle for him to keep calm and one that he was rapidly loosing; an innocent comment, blown out of all proportion he knew...but he couldn't help it. Inside he felt as if he were about to explode...  
  
"Um...sorry to interrupt," Annie said nervously, "but is that normal?"  
  
"Oh my stars and garters!" Hank exclaimed somewhat habitually, for his attention was drawn to the bed on which Remy perched, indicated to its direction by the school nurse's surprised question. It was only then that they all noticed the bright magenta glow that was engulfing the edge of the sick-bay bed, all of which was emanating from Remy LeBeau's hands. Slowly it started to spread, flowing over the thin metal structure like the bona fide shimmering glow of lava.  
  
"Remy!"  
  
"Merde!" he exclaimed as he finally looked down, realising that his powers had activated without him expressly knowing. He quickly removed his hands from the bed; instantly the kinetic fire receded back from whence it came, leaving a gaggle of dumb-founded X-Men to stare after him.  
  
"What the hell?" "I thought..." "Since when did...?"  
  
A barrage of garbled questioned rained down on him, all of which he was presently powerless to answer, and to an extent unwilling. It was only the thankful intervention of Professor Xavier that saved him from the unruly fusillade of inquiries.  
  
"Alright everybody! Alright! Calm down!" His cool eyes ran over the gathering as the animated voices petered out, one by one, "I think we really should wait until morning before we have this discussion," his light eyes ran over every X-Man; all quiet and compliant, "I'm sure they will inform us in due time as to everything that has happened. But right now...it is not either the time or the place. Nobody is in a fit state at this moment."  
  
"I agree," Ororo said as she manoeuvred over to Remy, placing a comforting hand on him as he hopped down from the bed, appearing strangely reluctant to look anyone in the eye.  
  
Xavier ran his forefinger and thumb over his eyes, his weariness telling; mental as well as physical. They didn't, and would never know how much he had worried about them when they were away... "Everyone, go to bed," he instructed them, "We will meet in the morning."  
  
Nobody said anything else for the longest while until Scott, firmly back in leader mode clarified things. "Okay," he began as he tiredly ruffled his shortly cropped hair, "we'll meet in the War Room tomorrow, nine A.M. sharp."  
  
"Fine," Ororo confirmed as she practically escorted Remy to the door, waiting for it to zip open before disappearing through. Nobody said a word; there was nothing for them to really say at this hour; shocks withstanding. With tempers frayed, and patience sorely tested they slowly traipsed and dispersed back to their quarters. Whatever was to happen in the morning could be left until then.

* * *

**_The Attic Sanctuary of Ororo Munroe..._**

**__**

**__**

**__**

  
In the early pale light Ororo could still not find rest. Despite her physical tiredness born of all the chaos and commotion of the past twelve hours, she could not, for the life of her, find true rest. She tossed and she turned, the crystalline light was full and hardy. She punched the pillow to flatten its small lumps, ones she'd never noticed before, then, within seconds, she lifted it and she fluffed it to its former bulk. She tried to get comfy in a warm niche, she tired to refresh herself in the vast space of bright cool sheets but nothing, absolutely nothing, would do. The mind was agitated too much with various qualms...sleep would simply not come. The thoughts of him, in every way...she grabbed the pillow roughly and tossed it over once more, slamming back down with a demur bounce, the cool linen resting against her smooth cheek...it wasn't enough. It would never be enough to erase the memory of their union, just hours earlier. Where did that leave them?....she knew not. There was a certain amount of desperation simply not to think about it but it was clearly fruitless. The thoughts popped into her head at their own leisure, the memories were persistent in their valour, now that all was calm and returned to a semblance of normality. Pleasant as they were, the tormented Windrider currently wished they would disperse, for mercies sake. She tossed and turned again....  
  
Her pale chemise clung to her body irritatingly; the elaborate lace that graced the curving dip at her bosom seemed to scratch the skin. Absently she pulled at it, almost to ripping point, murmuring softly to herself in her altered state. That awful state that does not grant sleep but neither does it permit full consciousness. Her brows knitted above loosely closed lids, as if perturbed by some faceless nightmare, the dark spectre that ran through dreams. But this was no dream...  
  
Knock knock knock  
  
Blue eyes opened sharply and widely. The three raps were loud enough yet gentle as not to amplify down the stairs and through-out the hall where a majority of the Institute staff slept. For her ears and for her ears only, yet odd that he'd bothered with the courtesy. After all the man was not above steeling in through her sky-light or picking her lock when she was not there, when the fancy took him. Many a time had she been away only to come back and realise that someone---a certain someone---had been using her room in her absence. She remained where she was for a moment, uncertain as to whether she had heard the knocks or not; simultaneously hoping yes and no. Perhaps her exhausted mind was playing tricks on her? She lay as if on a tomb, yet wished to hear the noise again. It was an eerily unfamiliar feeling, this pain of new love...  
  
"'Roro?"  
  
The warmth of his husky voice was pleasantly muffled against the door that blocked off the stairwell and all the madness below.  
  
"Come in Remy," she called as she sat up in her Queen sized bed; the butterflies were frantic, she'd never felt so nervous...But as was to be expected, it was all hidden beneath an exterior of arctic proportions. The door to the relatively secluded attic crept open and closed as quickly, with a minimum of fuss. There was a fair amount of light in the room, peaking cheekily through her haphazardly drawn drapes, but she still strained to see him as he moved into the vast space; just a tall lithe shadow slipping seamlessly towards her. Lost behind a tall plant or a roof support and then back again, just like the thief in the night that he was, not a footstep to be heard. Ororo unconsciously gripped at the cool sheet, pulling it slowly up her lap as he at last came into her full view; the only outward sign as the raw glow that his eyes often held appeared more pronounced than usual. The devil's fire burnt bright that early morn.  
  
Gambit came to a stop at the end of her bed, in the shaft that cut down diagonally from the skylight. Leaning casually forwards on the bedstead, both arms outstretched to support him, he stood before her with nothing on but a pair of school branded navy sweatpants hanging low and slack about his hips. Ororo could not fail to make out the vicious red lines of the wounds that still marked his bare chest, and the light bruising to the left side of his nose from the back-hander that Thierry had given him.  
  
"You should have let Hank give you the transfusion," she said softly, looking at the wounds---in fact, looking at anything as long as it wasn't his eyes, those eyes that shone out and damned attention.  
  
He gazed at her steadily, but said nothing for the moment. She would never have guessed that beneath that disarmingly cool exterior he felt just as awkward, just as nervous...but happily so. Her façade didn't fool him for a minute, but then again...doubt had room to sliver in; the conceited snake. This was the type of nervousness he could quite gladly live with, not the usual trepidation. But the question was now, back in the familiarity of their home, what happened next? He wanted to say something, but found himself scared to. Yes, the fearless Diable, scared that he'd hear the words he didn't want to, that she'd say now they were back in reality what had happened between them in New Orleans was a mistake. Her responsibilities, her commitments...He wasn't sure he could take it if she did...Slowly he started around the bed, sauntering up to the side that she was currently nestled in with apparent ease.  
  
"Dey'll be gone in a couple o' days ma chère, I'll be fine," he said in reference to his cuts and bruises. "Remy's had worse---a lot worse," he gestured casually down, "dan dis." He sat down, close to her feet as she hitched her knees up a little as if to make room for him to come nearer. "Yaw arm all good?" he asked as he made to reach out and touch it but then hesitated; the simplest things seemed so loaded now, but then he felt himself stupid and let his hand continue on its journey, softly tracing a finger over the now smooth skin where the nasty gash had formerly marred it. There was no tremble, no backing away, no hint of awkwardness on receiving his touch. He let his hand rest there; his palm feeling warm against the coolness of her skin...  
  
She stared down at the red marks about his wrists, tracing a finger as lightly as possible over the burns, wishing she could simply wipe them away. "That was quite some way to announce the return of your powers to the rest of the team." She looked up then, meeting the demon orbs for the first time, far more contently.  
  
"Oui," he chuckled softly, "Guess I'm gonna 'ave a few control issues I'll have t' work t'rough on dat front, hien?"  
  
"I guess so."  
  
Mutual silence stretched, only to be broken..."You know dat's why I didn' tell you straight away," he told her as he pushed himself further onto the bed, lifting his feet of the floor and crossing his legs into a lotus position as the springs creaked lazily below. He drew his hand back from her arm, letting it rest on the peak of her knees whereon he squeezed one gently as if to assure her, "I would o' told you sooner...I jus'...I couldn' be sure...I didn' want t' 'ave t' use dem, if I couldn' control dem..."  
  
"I understand," she reassured him with one of her rare jewels of a smile as she placed her hand comfortingly over his.  
  
Remy grinned a little as he looked down vacantly at the clean white linen and shook his head, "I felt jus' like a pup again---scared o' dis t'ing, dis power growin' inside o' me. It been so long since I felt dat...I almos' fo'got what it was like...."  
  
"I understand," she repeated, "I felt the same when my powers returned after losing them. The fear in the face of what feels beyond your ability to control and it makes you wonder how you ever did."  
  
He nodded, looking down into the ether, his hand holding steadfastly to her knee. Finally he looked up, catching her unflinchingly, now was as good a time as any... "Bu' you know Remy didn' come up here t' talk 'bout dat petite."  
  
"I know..." was the only thing that she could muster at this moment.  
  
Remy was almost relived at her minimal answer, it meant he could ignore the fact that he, the unflappable Gambit, almost felt his nerve giving in. But deep down he realised that it wouldn't, because this felt...true. Good and true. He moved his hand slowly from her knee, usurping hers that lay above his, holding onto it steadfastly, as if to ready himself. It was so delicate to him, so soft that it was all he could concentrate on for a while, lost in its familiar yet new feel. It made what happened next all the more of a surprise. He looked up, about to speak when he received the welcome pressure of her lips over his, allaying everything in space and time. His initial shock gave way to his longing and he couldn't help but smile against her supple lips as he took charge of the liaison, running his fingers into her hair and cupping her head firmly. He kissed her softly, with intimate thought, drawing her to him, releasing her slowly only to pull her back. His gentle teasing meant she could remain passive no longer; taking his bottom lip lightly between her teeth and sucking it demurely as her hands sought to hold him in the stillness of the muted attic atmosphere, closing over his hard tense shoulders that immediately slackened upon her touch. The kiss deepened as they pulled each other closer; Remy sitting back as he pulled Ororo into his lap and she automatically wrapped her legs around him, securely, letting the sheets slip from her body and the hem of her pure silk chemise ride up.  
  
"I didn' know if you'd feel de same when we got back 'ere," Remy said quietly as their kiss came to a mutual finish, but they still held each other close, feeding off each others body heat, "I t'ought---_I feared_--- t'ings would change."  
  
"Things _have_ changed," she told him, her lips brushing lightly against his cheek, "I can not...explain...but---."  
  
"Den let's not, ma chèrie," he cut in lightly, not wanting anything to ruin this tenuous beginning, "let's not..." Holding her tightly about the waist, his hands shimmying down her body to arrive at their destination, he lifted her from his lap and lay her down on the bed. He pushed up against her as her legs unfurled from about him, moving his lips back down to hers, seeking that tender connection, as blindly he took a hold of her hands, threading his fingers through hers as he pulled them above her head, resting on her plush pillow. After they had settled he moved back, one...two...three soft pecks, but kept his face just centimetres from hers, the words he had to say unstoppable yet absolute, sincere but timorous. _"Je t'aime..."..._and as the morning sun rose, he made love to her

**-TBC-  
**  
A bit shorter than usual, but hope you all enjoyed none the less?...;) Will try to be quick with chapter 17, M'iko, xx


	17. Chapter17

**First off I apologise for taking so long in posting this chapter---my computer seriously fked up and I lost everything (apart from this chapter thankfully, I had it saved on floppy) so I haven't been able to connect to the internet for quite some time. I hope you haven't all lost interest, I'm still committed to the story!**

**Sincere thanks to all who reviewed (nope, I don't work for Marvel, Roberta...honest! I seriously wish I did though, lol!) and welcome aboard to turtle doves' sister---hope you enjoy the rest of the story as much :)**

**Unfortunately Mary Dianna, I can't send you the rest of the story as even though it has been thoroughly plotted since the beginning I'm never more than one chapter ahead of what has already been posted (which is a good bloody job in light of what happened to my computer!). But thank-you for the request anyway---I did try to e-mail you to let you know after I received your review but it kept on getting returned as undelivered.**

**Once again, thanks for your patience, M'iko, xx**

****

**Translation**

****

**_Chienne_--- bitch **

**Chapter. 17.**

**_The Rec Room, 8.50am ..._**

"Listen up everybody," Scott's stern yet somehow more casual-than-usual voice cut through the ambling conversations and dull T.V. murmur of the rec room that by now had become the unofficial staff room for the Institute 'employees', if one could call them such, "ten minutes—everyone in the War Room."

"We know Scott," Jean said as she looked up from the latest Westchester Post she held aloft, with a hint of humour at her husband's incurable proclivity for reminding people when meetings were due—as if any of them were likely to forget. Warren, Hank and the newly returned trio of Emma, Jean-Paul and Alex from a talking tour of East-coast schools and colleges, paid him no mind at all. Arrogance and, or, familiarity, depending on the X-Man, had made them immune to it.

"Okay," he replied from the doorway with a gruff clearing of his throat; a slightly fidgety, disconcerted air to his manner at being reminded of his habitualness. Emma's cool glacial look bore into him from the table behind the sofa where she was enjoying a quiet coffee with his younger brother and Northstar, making her smile slyly; ice diamond lips sparkling. But he was thankful that there was no characteristically pithy or deadpanned comment to follow.

He was about to continue on down the hallway, intending to remind the remaining members, Kurt and Bobby, refereeing yet another school basketball match—now seeming to have superseded the former X-choice of baseball—when Jean called to grab his attention, "Oh Scott."

He ducked back into the alcove of the doorway, gripping at the moulded side, "What?"

"Has anyone told Kurt about what's happened yet?" she asked as she turned around to practically kneel on the sofa in order to face him properly, snagging down her jade cotton skirt.

Scott reluctantly shook his head as he came into the room, stopping just before the place where his wife sat, right next to a completely oblivious Hank McCoy; his sapphire feline eyes fixed on a Discovery Channel documentary about advanced biomedical engineering whilst he sipped at what was already his third cup of Peruvian black-been coffee of the day, only three hours past dawn.

"No," he finally verbalised, "Not that I know of, unless Charles has already talked with him."

Jean's sharp ruby eyebrows creased as she lowered her eyes; not relishing the thought of telling him if no-one else had mustered the courage too, as Ororo had suggested last night. Then again, perhaps Storm already had informed him; as one of the closest members of the team to him now present at the mansion, and being as Logan wasn't around right now. And seen as she knew all of the details about what had happened, perhaps it would have been best for her to break the unhappy news, "Maybe Ororo's told him," she hypothesised with a sturdy if vaguely uncertain nod.

"Maybe Ororo has told who what?"

Both husband and wife froze for a moment; that trade mark German accent only corporeally accompanied when they both turned sharply to the doorway to see the furry blue elf stood; non-descript purple and red basketball shirt hanging from his chest, the rough orange ball tucked in complementary contrast to his colouring underneath his left arm and a small gaggle of exhausted students hanging around behind him. Some Jean recognised from her classes, some Scott could place from his; the others like Angel and Beak, infamous around the entire school. There were so many of them around these days, it would be impossible to know them all individually.

Scott and Jean simply looked at each other, searching for an answer in jade and guarded eyes.

"Kurt," the red-head eventually said through a suddenly dry throat, "...there's something you should know..."

**_The Attic, twenty minutes earlier ..._**

The first thing Ororo was aware of was the smile upon her lips, then the warming bright rays of the sun casting down on her face, bathing her with glorious rejuvenation. She could feel the dip in the bed; the alien sense of somebody else between her sheets...alien, but pleasant... She smiled even more, her heart pounded that little bit faster, a fluctuation of panic...Opening her eyes slowly she began to turn, feeling herself falling into the subtle groove, but as she turned she was surprised to see the other side of the bed empty, just a body shaped hollow there to great her. Hitching herself onto her elbows, Ororo pulled the sheet up to cover her as her brow knitted softly in confusion.

"Remy?" she called out quietly, met only by an undetermined silence, backed by a soft twitter from beyond the room. Unthinkingly she ran her hand over the area of the bed he had occupied. Still warm... "Remy?" she tried again, waiting for just a moment before pulling her self out of bed and slipping into the silk dressing gown that matched her discarded chemise, dressing her nakedness as she headed for the door. Stealthily she moved off the narrow attic stair case and swiftly down the hallway; just a minute to get to where she was going. And as she came to his room she did not bother to knock, but instead entered quickly---the slight shift of her robe whispering down the corridor like an apparition there and then gone as quickly---the door closed silently behind her...

The smoke hissed from his lips, billowing against the window before it rose...He leaned against the cold pane as it gradually began to warm up under the primary stars heat. His strange eyes did not observe the quite landscape that sprawled out before him, nor did he register the dull click of the door...The last twenty-four hours had been terrible yet so wonderful too. But distinguishing the gradation between the two had Remy's mind scrambled. What constituted the exemplary parts? He took another drag and sighed his exhale; by now his whole form cloaked in an ethereal-like veil.

He tried his best not to think of everything they'd left behind in New Orleans---he felt so powerless to do anything about it and that angered him. He'd gone there, against his better judgement to help and only proceeded to help in making things worse. Same old, same old, the cynic in him chanted. The times in the past when he'd gotten involved---every one had ended badly. This had been no exception. They had been all but chased out of town when the dust had settled---the disparate factions of both Clans swearing vengeance for another day, too badly hit to settle the score where they stood. If he'd been alone he would have stayed, faced it out. He was tired of running from these people when the going got tough, but with Ororo there, injured as she was, it was impossible. The one thing he'd sworn solemnly to himself from the start was that he wouldn't let Ororo get hurt...and that was exactly what had happened. Ororo... to her his thoughts turned surreptitiously, achingly...

"Merde," he whispered covertly, "What mess you get yaw'self int' dis time Remy LeBeau?" The chastisement was accompanied by a shake and bow of his head as he thought over everything as rationally as he could. He loved her...he'd fallen _in love_ with his Stormy. And no matter how much he wanted to believe, did she feel the same? He thought, he hoped, he prayed she did. But more paramount than that was one other question, nagging at him, refusing him any semblance of peace. _Did he deserve her_?...All he knew now was that he wanted to make her happy, if he could. And he was damn sure that he was going to try...if she let him. But what did trying matter? What did it matter if he wasn't sure she was committed to anything?...Yes, they had slept together, but that stood for nothing in the great scheme of things...the heartache passed, the expression in the tunnel back at Yolocan-Uato, what had flowed from he to she...In truth he could be certain of nothing, for nothing had been truly declared. It was the most odd thing for him too feel. Had he ever been so uncertain, with anyone? He doubted it. And the uncertainty had nothing to do with reluctance...more fear. He inhaled and exhaled again with a deep exhausted sigh. Clouded.

"Something on your mind?"

Remy's heart all but jumped out of his chest but he managed not to let it show; remaining perfectly still, not even turning his head to look at her. He simply listened, carefully, astutely to the tread of her coming closer to him; the drum of his heart not letting up, indeed speeding up until he felt it truly would burst as she laid her hands upon him. Easily they glided up his smooth chest as she pushed her body to his; just tall enough to rest her chin upon his shoulder to look out over the mist-kissed rolling fields. "Up to your old tricks again, I see," she murmured playfully into his ear.

"Hum?"

"Making yourself conspicuously scarce."

He laughed warmly along with her, taking hold of her hands that clasped loosely over his heart with his free one. "Jus' t'ought you mighta wan'ed some space, dat's all."

"Space?" she asked lightly as she tilted her head around to try and gauge his expression, but he looked steadfastly ahead. "What made you think that?"

He shrugged gently, but didn't answer---he didn't know how to answer that without giving the game away. And that's exactly what it was he thought to him self with a slight hint of anger...a game. It was all a game. Had he the guts to cut the bullshit and stop playing?

Ororo was confused by his reluctance to answer; a tendril of dread snaking through her, a slow creeping vine... Then a thought came to her, "Are you worried about your father?" As she said the words she felt him flinch slightly; his rough hand squeezing hers a little tighter.

Remy paused for a moment; being pushed back to his former train of thought about his father and the mess that they'd left behind. The mess they'd had no other _choice _than to leave behind. "Yah, bu' he'll be okay," he turned around, enveloping her in his arms as he had last night, her sheer beauty overwhelming..."Physically at least...he'll be okay. Dat _chienne_ didn' hit nuhddin vital, thank fuck. But as for de Guild...," he shook his head, "I dunno chère."

When Storm noted the genuine concern evident in his face and tone her heart went out to him completely. No matter what happened or what he voiced to the contrary, he'd always love the man who raised him, he wasn't cold hearted enough to cut him off completely. Everything they'd been through over the past couple of weeks had shown her that. Not that she didn't already know that..."What will happen now?" she asked, "With the Guilds, I mean."

He tilted his head back and drew in a deep breath before looking down at her with a bereft shake, "I dunno, but dis is bad,_ real_ bad...I got de distinct feelin' dis could lead t' an' all-out war between de Clans. Someone's gonna have t' take de fall fo' dis cock-up."

Ororo nodded, her face falling into the same concerned expression as Gambit's, "And Jean-Luc's Clan is the one most likely to pay for it, I suppose."

Remy shrugged, "Mebbe," he said, "Remy t'inks it gonna be much worse dan dat. De Santiago Guild is gonna 'ave t' answer to de uddahs dey were in cahoots wit'...man, Mystique fucked dem over big time. She knew exactly what she was doin'...dis wasn't a run o' de mill job fo' her." His brow creased as he thought things over, trying desperately to understand her motivation, her grudge perhaps. But why a grudge, unless... "She wanted t' destroy de Guilds...she wuz workin' by design."

"But why would she go to so much trouble?" Ororo asked, "What would she have had to gain by destroying the Thieves Guild?"

Remy raised an eyebrow as he fixed her in a steady gaze, "You fo'get chère---de woman's fo' hire," he huffed a wry laugh as he looked off into the middle distance, "Or at leas' she was." Now that time had passed he was in two minds about his earlier assumption. Could she really be dead after all? Was that possible?

"So you except that she's gone then?" Ororo said with a knowing smile.

"Mebbe," he replied begrudgingly, "But it's at times like dis I wish you'd o' let me get rid of her in dat hospital," he looked completely serious; a grave air about him as he spoke with utter conviction, "After what she did t' Rogue an' Moira." The dark fall of his angular features was almost frightening.

Storm stood up tall automatically, her natural grace telling as she unconsciously pushed her shoulders back, "But that would have made you a cold-blooded murderer," she told him with the clarity of crystal, "and I was not about to stand around and let that happen...not to somebody I care so deeply about."

Remy smiled down at her softly, pulling her into a snug embrace, the tenderness of her against him like this sending him to seventh heaven. It took all his will power not to simply throw her to the ground and take her again. Instead he settled for some heartfelt words, "Yo' mah Angel, you know dat?" She simply gazed at him with the utmost modesty. "I wouldn' be half de man if it weren't fo' you petit. I hate t' t'ink where I'd be, an who I'd be if you hadn' come int' mah life when you did."

"You give me too much credit Remy," she said softly as she cupped his face, running her hand along his strong jaw line in wonder, "You are a better man than you think you are. Look at what you have just done for your 'family'?" she said, amazed that he still retained so low an opinion, "Did they deserve it?" she said rhetorically, "No, but you did what you felt was right regardless."

"I guess..." he said reluctantly.

"You made sure that Mattie was okay, you helped your father," she insisted gently, "you did everything you could to make things right amongst bad men, when it was not your responsibility."

"I may 'ave, but I doubt it's done much good in de long run---dey're still gonna tare dem selves apart over dis, an' if I hadn't o' tried t' run wit' it---."

"Mystique would have done what she did no matter what course of action we took. Whether we knew it or not, the whole thing was out of our hands before---."

"An' den we're back t' where we started," he interrupted in turn, "If I'd done what needed t' be done in de firs' place," he reiterated, referring again to his attempt to assassinate the assassin, "none o' dis woulda 'appened."

Ororo looked down and shook her head in dismay, "And then you would have been a killer and the Guilds would have gotten their hands on an object that could have caused worldwide devastation simply to destroy the Assassins. Would that have been preferable?" She broke away from his hold on her, her irritation building despite her notorious calm.

"Dis was a no-win situation, Remy realises dat chère," he tried to appease, re-establishing his contact with by holding steadily to her arms. The last thing he wanted now was to start an argument with her. The situation was fragile enough... "Let's not fight abou' dis girl," he pleaded as he drew her to him again, dropping his neglected cigarette into an old beer can that sat idly on the windowsill behind him; bent like a cripple and rusting around the silver top.

The Windrider let her self be pulled back into their former embrace, enjoying the tighter hold he made. "Alright, we will not fight about this," she acquiesced, but a somewhat mischievous look lit her pretty features, "So long as you agree to something for me?"

Remy gave her a playfully sceptical look, narrowing his dark eyes at her, "Oh yeah, an' what would dat be, mon chère?" He gave her a playful squeeze, jerking her against him and making her laugh as his hands slyly set about gathering up her skill dressing gown.

"That," she replied as she reached behind her for his exploring hands, pushing up her garment until it exposed her buttocks, which he took great pleasure in fondling, "...would be you," she continued quietly, brushing her lips against his mouth teasingly, "going back to the medi-lab later, so that Hank can check you over properly." He grumbled half-seriously but was soon sated by Ororo's deep and longing kiss, prompting him to grope at her as she hooked her arms about his neck, enjoying the tender pleasure. His large hands ran down her bare thighs before clasping again at her rear. She rocked her hips towards him in response, hooking her leg over his to allow him closer to her. Remy took the invitation with gusto, grasping at her hair with a raised hand, delving his tongue with true zeal whilst holding firmly to her raised leg. Hoisting her up from the ground, the Cajun carried her over to his bed not more than five yards away. After everything, he couldn't resist. He laid her down on the ruffled sheets of his bed, his doubts melting like the polar ice cap... But still, his thief's keen awareness soon told him that there was a sense of apprehension in the way she clutched at his neck, a creeping demur in her kiss as he settled between her legs, resting on his elbows and cupping her head in his hands.

"Somet'in' wrong?" he asked quietly, pecking softly at her lips, not yet daring to hold her sapphire eye.

She simply shook her head at first as her fingers took up occupation with a stray lock of auburn hanging down from the rest safely tucking behind his ear, "No..." she fairly breathed with the whisper of the breeze, before looking him straight in the eye.

"You sure? 'Cause you seem a li'll...I dunno..._edgy_."

"I am not edgy," she answered plainly as she swallowed down, focusing on her slim dark fingers letting his straight hair run through their gaps like water over rocks; twirling it around, down, over and back in again, snagging slightly on the chipped ends of ruined fingernails. The distracted action didn't inspire the greatest of confidence.

"'Roro," he began hesitantly, dropping his gaze down to the length of her neck before daring himself to look back. Under the intense pressure of his stare she finally looked away from her playful engagement, thrown by the seriousness of his bearing, "... 'Roro, if...if you t'ink dis is a mistake," his heart was racing, all of his courage poured into such uncharacteristic openness, "if you be havin' second t'oughts 'bout dis—'bout us—den Remy'd understand." He fought not to bite his lip at the blatant lie, regretting the words even as they tumbled darkly from his mouth. Hoping she'd be able to see straight through him, like she always did.

Ororo's fingers stopped, frozen...slowly dropping back down to a gentle clasp about his neck as she felt his hands ridged against her waist and left thigh. She sucked in a breath, "Remy—."

knock knock knock

They both looked across the room over to the door, but didn't move to disestablish their compromising embrace. "Remy?" It was Bobby. "You up yet, you slacker?"

"Yah," he shouted back, focusing back onto Ororo, "Jus' give me a min'ue, mon frère."

"Alright, but Scott wanted everyone in the War Room, like, yesterday," his dulled voice began to recede as his muffled footfall carried on down the hallway. "I'd make it snappy if I were you, he seems real pissed about somethin'..." His words trailed of as the high-pitched ping of the lift door sounded and the shifting of it opening and closing concluded the conversation with a succinctness.

"We should go," Ororo said quickly as she made to sit up, confident that there was now no-one to hear her presence in Remy's room.

Remy rocked himself back onto his feet in order to let her get up but then quickly sat down again; plonking himself on the edge of the bed whilst he watched her frantically straightening herself up, needlessly pulling the creases from her loose silk gown.

Lightly clasping his hands between his parted knees he waited until she'd finished; running her hands quickly through her hair to flatten its ruffled back, making him remember with a smile and a pang the way she'd looked as she lay on his chest with endearing bedroom hair... It had only been hours but it felt to him a lifetime ago. "'Roro—."

"We will talk later," she pre-empted as she headed for the door as if intent to leave a burning room as swiftly as she could. But then she stopped at the door and finally looked back at him, "I promise." And with that, she left; closing the door as quietly as possible behind her.

Remy watched the vacant space of her departure for a moment, not knowing what to feel or what to make of that little display. He'd had a lot of women in his time and considered himself something of an expert in the international language of mixed signals. But with Storm? For once this Casanova was well and truly stumped.

"Women," he grumbled to him self as he flopped back onto his bed, flinging his arms over his head and let out a bemused sigh.

**_The War Room, 9.20am..._**

"... and that is about the long and short of it," Ororo finished, explaining as accurately as she could the events of the previous night; their apprehension at Mattie's shack, the explosive events at the Notre Dame Cemetery. Without the antagonism of their return to interrupt, Storm managed to fill in the rest of the team with swift ease. The windowless subterranean room was filled with a contemplative hush, only interrupted by the soft swish of the parting entrance doors as the final X-Man deigned the rest with his presence, twenty minutes late.

"Okay, so everyone's finally here," Scott said from the centre edge of the circular table as he kept a stolid eye on Remy sauntering casually in, a cigarette hanging from the curved corner of his mouth. Everyone looked briefly up as he sat down, but he ignored them, making contact with only one; the white-haired Goddess. She managed a small smile from where she sat next to Scott, almost directly opposite the Cajun. But that was all---she appeared in every other respect as business like as ever; calm and concentrated.

Scott took to his seat, satisfied enough to relax a little. The Professor flanked his other side, looking more than happy to let his designated X-leader and next in line to take over the Principles role at the Institute, take charge of the situation. It was as if he was there to observe and no more, Remy noted in his more lax demeanour.

"Now we got de 'Dr Strangelove' love set-up," Remy deadpanned as he plucked out his cigarette and pointed lazily at the over head lighting of the round table, shooting down a conical brightness over the arranged gathering, "is dis de part were de interrogation starts, hien? Shouldn' me an' Stormy be in shackles or somet'in'?" he smirked and mimicked having his hands tied to the chair behind his back, "lights shinin' in our faces, all dat?" He flicked off the bending column of ash onto the floor and brought the mottled filter back to his eager lips; earning him nothing more than a icy look from Emma---but he was used to that, just like everyone else was accustomed to her glacial 'charms'. He flashed her a lascivious grin, guaranteed to get the haughty toff on her uppers, but in a rare show of restraint she simply turned away from him, albeit with a flourish of golden hair and a petulant folding of her arms over her uncharacteristically modest white polo top.

Scott exhaled audibly with tired annoyance, laying his hands on the edge of his chairs arms, gripping their edges lightly, "There won't be any need for interrogations LeBeau. In your---absence," he stated rather sarcastically, "Ororo has kindly brought us up to speed."

"Goodie," Remy replied petulantly through a cloud of smoke, "So what's de problem?"

"The problem," Emma spoke up, not even bothering to bestow Remy with a spare glance as she addressed him, "is that as much as it sickens us, we may have to agree with you on something. A terribly rare situation, so I wouldn't get _too_ used to it if I were you."

"No kiddin', he replied with a self-satisfied smile regardless as he turned pointedly in his swivel chair, interlinking his fingers and leaning his elbows out on his chair with a cocky air as his smoke hung from the upturned corner of his mouth once more, "What's dis den, _mon chèrie_?"

"Mystique," she said the name of the vaunted foe begrudgingly. "From what _Miss _Munroe here has told us," she made a particular accentuation of the singularity... "most of us would agree with your point of view---we doubt very much that the proverbial 'pain in the arse' is gone for good. Intergalactic warfare, assassinated by a Shi'ar Gladiator, taken down by one of the pitiful crop we dare call X-Men at this moment, but a car crash? A mere accident?" The White Queen coolly arched a perfectly plucked blonde eyebrow, ignoring her comrades' indignant yet unsurprised looks at being labelled a 'pitiful crop', "I'm afraid that fate would not have us be so fortuitous. We've been caught off-guard by this kind of thing too many times before. " Somewhere in the back ground Jean muttered the collective pronoun 'we've' under her breath with more than a little bitterness. She was not the only one present that still retained issues with Frost's presence on the team and her presumptuousness, as if she'd always been a part of them.

"Hmph," he cocked his head as he looked across the table at Ororo, "at leas' someone agrees wit' me."

"I thought you said I was probably right," Storm countered with a steely gaze cutting swathes across the table, "about Mystique."

Remy shrugged and drew again on his cigarette; three quick draws in succession. "Like I said chère...mebbe."

"Any chance we could leave the lover's tiff until afterwards?" Frost couldn't help but take the opportunity. A telepath as skilled as she was could hardly miss it, just as the Phoenix hadn't. Phosphorous flared dynamite.

"Cut it out Emma," Jean cut in resolutely, glaring at the woman who had been doing her best to destroy her marriage with all the fiery distain she could muster; a task that came unsurprisingly easy. A tension burdened silence purveyed for a moment, with the blond and the redhead holding duelling looks from their opposite ends; a deadlock of wills that was only interrupted by the ever-present voice of reason.

"This can be easily settled, my X-Men." Scott, Ororo, Remy, Bobby, Emma, Alex, Jean, Hank, Warren, Jean-Paul and Kurt all turned to their mentor. He looked strangely formidable under the blackened shadow cast by the over head spot-lighting, night black hollows for deeply bagged eyes, liquid darkness creeping down the thick gullies about his mouth and cheeks; but with no more oozing gravitas than usual, no more than was expected.

"How?"

"Cerebra," he stated assuredly.

The White Queen scoffed with light derision, "I thought you always told us the shape-shifter was impossible to trace---even with that contraption."

Xavier smiled, somewhat slyly, "Almost, my dear, almost."

"So you could find her?" The hope in the German's voice was evident, despite everything. He simply could not disguise it. He'd been sat there the whole time, silent as a mute, shell-shocked...a balled hand over his mouth, a distant land in his vacant sallow eyes beneath his deeply folded brow. He'd held the look ever since Jean had told him. The woman was a monster, yes—a thief, a murderer, a fiend, a gun-for-hire...but she was his mother. One with such compassion as his could not abandon her to a condemned existence, no matter how much she may have deserved it. He refused to believe, for very much other reasons than his colleagues currently held onto, that she was really gone. "If she's not..." The young European couldn't bring him self to say the word.

Charles turned to Kurt, all the sympathy of a father in his eyes, "If she is not dead, then I will find her," he reassured him, "it is in all of our interests to locate her...for if she is not dead, then that means the Carcoccia is not gone either. And god knows what that would precipitate."

"A fuckin' shit-storm, dat's what, mon braves," Remy said darkly, swivelling back and forth in his chair by virtue of his long outstretched legs, crossed casually at the ankle; his manner deceptively easy, as always, "'ow long do you t'ink it would take t' find 'er, homme?"

Xavier took his 'prayer-joined' hands from his mouth to answer, leaning back from the table, "Usually?...two or three days---four at most."

"Then for want of any better plan, that's what should happen," Scott consolidated as he stood from his chair, signalling an unexpectedly swift end to the meeting. "Charles will search for Mystique and in the meanwhile everything continues as normal, okay?" he glanced over the gathering, "Or as normal as it gets around here," he added under his breath.

Remy was silently surprised by Scott's sudden casualness considering his agitation on the previous night---but then again that was simply the Summers up-tightness personified; you could never be quite sure which way it would swing.

"Is that all then?" Jean-Paul asked with barely disguised irritation, "Is that all we were called here for?" An impatient man as he was, he had better things to be doing with his time than wasting it here.

"Yes, I guess," Scott replied lightly, "If there are any developments, the Professor or I will let you know."

Remy couldn't help but grin as he exhaled the last of his cigarette and stumped it out on the edge of the gleaning metalic table, a blossom of orange sparks spurting underneath the black dead crushed stump; again much to the disgust of Emma. "Den we're adjourned from dis li'll...meetin'?"

After a hardened pause Cyclops answered, "Yeah," albeit begrudgingly so.

"But what about the Guilds," Iceman asked, always loving the act of throwing a spanner in the works when things appeared to be going too smoothly, "Aren't they kinda pissed at how this has all turned out?"

Remy had gotten up from his chair, already heading for the door with steady strides, but he soon span sharply on his right foot to face his questioner. "If so, den dat will be mah problem t' deal wit'," the ebony of his eyes seemed to darken, if such a thing were possible, the treacly husk of his voice dropping an octave or several, "...won' it?"

The previously cocky X-original suddenly took a sheepish turn, shrinking back into the leather bound seat that seemed at that point to overwhelm him, "Yeah man, whatever." He splayed his hands up as a functionary sign of defeat as Gambit turned on his heal and walked out of the War Room, muttering something in Cajun under his breath and feeling the whole meeting had been a complete waste of time; more an exercise in Scott Summers proving a point than anything else.

"_Jeez_," Bobby whispered as he shifted to the side, leaning into Hank, "What crawled up his ass and died?"

Hank shook his head, pinching the thumb and digit of his paw-like hands to the bridge of his nose beneath the joining arch of his glasses, "Ah Robert," he sighed, "you are the very definition of tact and urbanity, as always." He looked down at his close friend with a sarcastically arched brow.

Bobby laughed. "Hey man, that's me---the picture of civility!"

As individual conversations sprung up around the group, it didn't take long for Storm to follow Remy from the room, her own concerns spurring her, but not before an affectionate inquiry. "Are you okay Kurt?" She laid a firm hand on his shoulder as she stopped beside him.

"Ja, Ororo." Nightcrawler stared blankly ahead whilst he answered her, lost in his own world, "Danke."

"If you need to talk, then you know where to find me."

"Ja...danke," he repeated; his countenance was that of a zombie. Storm wasn't sure that he'd truly taken everything in. He'd looked ghastly from the moment he came into the room. So much had happened to him in recent months, so many revelations. This was the last thing he needed to deal with right now. But for all her true and genuine concern for her dearly loved friend as she looked up and caught sight of Remy's retreating back disappearing into the artificial brightness of the hallway her mind turned to other things.

"I will come to see you later Kurt," she told him absently as she moved off from the table, ignoring the resumption of idle chatter around her as she followed Gambit into the corridor.

* * *

"Remy," she called as she came through the doors, "wait." 

The tall X-Man stopped abruptly, his sneaker squeaking against the white tiled flooring with a high-pitched echo. "What is it, chère?" He didn't bother to turn.

Ororo's words froze for a moment, cast arctic by the tone of his voice. "What was that all about?"

"What was what?" He poked his tongue into his cheek, begrudgingly turning to face her.

"That in there---goading Scott," she said manifestly as she flung a finger towards the War Room before folding her arms over her chest, leaning her weight easily into her right hip. "Why were you being so...?"

"So wha'?" He walked towards her determinedly, halting a foot or two away, unconsciously mirroring the folding of her arms; the posture somewhat defensive. His bangs fell down heavily, casting his face in shadow.

Ororo suddenly laughed with bitter resignation, touching a hand to her forehead as if she were struck by some ailment, "By the Goddess..." she muttered towards the ground before flinging her head up to catch him rock hard eyes, the shift in her demeanour throwing him momentarily off guard. "What is wrong with you Remy?" she asked coldly, genuinely, "Do you always have to do this?"

Remy pulled his head back in confusion, "What de hell are you---?"

"---trying to get on the wrong side of people, just for the hell of it!" her voice began to rise despite her attempts to stem it; the tide unstoppable, "Strolling in there like you had not a care in the world!" She stopped suddenly, taking stock of her self with a deep calming breath. At this point Remy just watched, a little too stunned to say anything. Half turning away from him, the Windrider shook her head slightly as she continued in a more sedate manner, almost at a whisper, "Quite frankly Remy, the whole thing is getting rather old. I mean it---it---," she stammered over her words in her rapidly returning ire, "---ever since you returned to the mansion your flippant and rather baffling attitude has gotten worse." She turned back to face him fully, met by an unflinching stone wall. "At first...at first I thought it was because of your powers---that you felt lost without them, and I could sympathise with that. But now...now I am not so sure. From the moment we came back, to that 'charming' display in there---things have not changed..." Her diatribe finally petered out and oddly, she felt a wave of relief, as if the stress of everything that had happened to them had poured out in one direction; the release of a damn fit to bursting point. The corridor seemed empty without the weighty force of her words to fill it.

"You finished?"

Ororo glared at him...

"You _sure_?"

She almost cracked a smile...

"Aw, now, come on chère, you know dat's no' fair," he tilted his head to her, playing the wounded puppy for all its worth, "Scott was actin' like a dick las' nigh', an you know it."

Ororo looked at him square and simply sighed, "That as may be, but how does that explain the way you were behaving just then, hmm?" She paused, genuinely waiting for an answer, at least for him to other some semblance of explanation; her patience tested. This had been the last thing she'd expected to explode from her when she'd rushed out after him and now the sprawling embarrassment of the outburst was crawling over her like the smothering ivy that embraced the house. Perhaps all this had gotten to her more than she'd bargained; bad memories, bad experience...

Remy huffed a laugh and turned out his palms to profess innocence, "Remy was jus' havin' some fun Stormy," he reached down, fidgeting about in the pockets of his thread-bare cut off jeans, trying to get a quick handle on the rectangle bulge that strained against his left thigh, "it won' nuhddin' serious. Jésus! Ain't a guy allowed t' 'ave a sense o' humour around 'ere no more?" he finished somewhere between light irritation and nervous laughter as he pulled the red Marlborough packet from his jeans and yanked out a smoke with an overbearing gesture.

She didn't wait for him to light up, only wanting to walk away from that place right now---gain some space and perspective on the stupidity of it all. As she began to move away from him she wanted to kick herself, wishing she'd left it a little longer, regretting everything she'd just said to him...regretting them for their truth, if nothing else.

"Hey, hey," he crushed the slim white stick into the palm of his hand, reaching out for her with the other, "I'm sorry, okay?" he turned her to him, "Remy's sorry. Fo'give me fo' still bein' pissed wit' de guy." He gazed at her with unfeigned remorse as he held onto both her arms, lightly, affectionately, "_Come on_," he almost whispered, "let's no' play no more games, hien? Don' play dumb girl...you know exactly why I'm a bit off righ' now. I mean, what de hell was dat back dere?"

"I am sorry too," she admitted, "I think things have affected us both much more than we would care too---."

"No, no, I didn' mean dat 'Ro," he countered, urging her not to hide behind façades anymore, making his distain for it obvious. Could she not see how much he was putting him self on the line here or did she genuinely have no idea? "Back in mah room...I mean, I know you got more temperature settin's dan a goddamn central heatin' system, but damn 'Ro...dat was jus' cold. What's ol' Remy suppose' t' t'ink, huh? One minu'e you're all over me, de next, you couldn' wait t' get outta dere quick enough. It's no' like I asked you t' be dere---you came down yo'self... 'cause you _wan'ed_ to..."

"No Remy, it was not like that---."

"An' after las' nigh'..." he continued, a little softer now, "jus'...jus' help me out here. I've been pushed from pillar t' post enough 'Ro...I don' need dat from you too."

Ororo felt a rare tear prick her eye but willed it back as she slipped her arms around him, resting her hands on his back, "Oh Goddess..." he held her tighter, encouraging her to respond, "I am sorry Remy---understand, that is the _last _thing I wanted to do. Believe me," she said gravely, "the absolute last. But still, we can not simply pretend that everything is completely normal. Perhaps we would have done better to talk last night, instead of..." she looked up at him and laughed quietly under her breath, as did he before taking her chin gently into his fingers. He could have sworn he'd seen the slight pique of a blush in her dark cheeks.

"Bu' let's face it," he said, his drawl dropping deep as he lowered his mouth close to hers, "de second option wuz by far de mo'e _fun _choice chère."

"Stop it..." she chided with a dulcet laugh, quieted by the warm pressure of his lips against hers. She instantly yielded to a kiss that deepened unexpectedly; her stomach fluttering and pulse racing with all the force of a flash flood as he embraced her harder, an unruly hand finding its way into her hair. It was as if the fact that they were stood in the middle of a corridor with all their team mates just the other side of the wall had vanished from both of their minds; their want now took precedence. They didn't even take note of the hissing hydraulics and the neat sound of the War Room door sliding open.

"To be honest Hank, I don't think Emma's ever had a sympathetic bone in---oh!" Jean stopped dead just outside the door---the look of surprise quickly replaced by the goofiest grin one was ever likely to see.

"Jean, Hank," Ororo said; so cordial, so unflustered that it was almost amusing as she unlinked her self from Remy with minimal fuss and faced her colleagues. Smoothing down her ruffled hair, she glanced at Remy, uttering, "We _will_ talk later," then carried on to the lift around the corner that would take her to the upper levels without another word.

A moment of awkward silence prevailed; Hank and Jean looking anywhere but at Remy; he gazing boldly at them, waiting for the requisite comment.

"I'll---umm---I'll just be going now," Jean stuttered, struggling to suppress the smirk as she whisked past Remy, taking Ororo's path. Oh how she had known she had been right! The increasingly rapid clicking of her heels faded off down the corridor, echoing back fainter to the two men left, culminating in an eager request for Storm to hold the lift door for her.

"Well, hmm, what to say?" Beast comically tipped back and forth onto the heel and ball of his massive feet, his hands clasped behind his back as silent seconds ticked by. He cleared his throat brusquely, "Fancy a trip to the medi-lab? Those powers need checking y'know."

Remy fought a groan of despair at the slue of innuendo that was sure to come. But then he thought, why not get it over with, and trooped off in the other direction from where the girls had gone, followed by a not too discreetly amused Beast.

"Soooo....since when---."

Remy lifted a sharp finger as he carried on forwards, "Shut it homme," he said wearily, "Jus' shut it." Hank just laughed.

-TBC-

I will try to get the next chapter out quicker to make up for the delay that I can't apologise enough for, but I can't promise anything ;)


	18. Chapter18

Way-hey!!! My first fic to hit triple figure reviews!!!!!!! Thank-you to everybody for those reviews! M'iko, xx

This chapter is dedicated to John Peel. (If you read the note at the end of my bio, you'll know why) A great, great man who'll be sorely missed...

Chapter. 18.

**_Ten miles south west of Khmel'nyts'yy, central Ukraine... _**

They walked in almost perfect silence along the grate flooring of the gangway. The three figures were in unintentionally synchronised step as slivers of harsh light slipped through the regular oblong gaps beneath them like a regimented dappling effect in reverse. It tallied with the general atmosphere of the cavernous building, with its straight lines and perfect symmetry, it left a distinctly militarised industrialism taste in the mouth; along with the chemicals; that unnatural, irritating scent. Whatever this place had once been used for, the general imprint of it, if not the actual physical artefacts it once housed, marked it like so many tattoos. It looked almost barren in fact, only the occasional group of young men and women, exceptionally young in some cases, roamed around the vacant floors below, all of which could be seen in the open plan of the main hall of what had surely been a factory of some sort; marching along in their dark grey uniforms, utterly regimented.

She had no idea where they were heading and frankly she cared little as to their destination. As long as this was over and done with swiftly and full payment afforded then she would be happy. The job had gone with surprising ease, she pondered idly to the continuing syncopated footfall of heavy army issue boots. Clunk, thud, clunk, thud...It was a comforting drone that kept her mind focused. And focused it needed to be until the very end. The very end. She'd been involved in enough dodgy scams and double crosses over the years to know that you never let your guard down until you're at least over the boarder, out of the country, preferably off the continent. Never trust anybody. That was her motto, etched on her heart so deep it was instinct now. Pure instinct.

As she progressed swiftly, professionally along the thoroughfare she had only exchanged the briefest of eye contact with the men at either side of her, their dulled Kalashnikovs clutched deceptively casually yet firmly across their broad chests with both hands. It had been enough for a mutual respect and not a word exchanged since; just an understanding, just enough. Their dark Slavic looks composed and utterly expressionless. They had the look of military about them, even the slight stench, like the fabric of this building but there was something that was...off. She could sense it. Not real soldiers, bona fide ex-Soviet block, but not quite rag-tag militia either. It was something she couldn't pin-point, something _underneath_ the skin. Something regimented, burrowed deep.

Quietly, undetected she scanned them once more; animal yellow eyes going this way and that, trying to fill in the gaps. But she gleaned nothing more that make her feel comfortable with them, only the mutual respect that had been present from the beginning. Respect that passed from predator to predator; a weariness. But never trust. There was never trust. The thoughts quickly dissipated as the finally reached the end of the gangway that had to have been close to a mile in expanse, going right across the main space of the factory floor. One of the Slavic men doubled his step, so unconsciously that one wouldn't have noticed, just enough to get to the door and punch in a code at the panel on the right hand side of what looked like fairly heavy duty steel.

As it opened the three never broke their stride to proceed through. 263945. She noted the code without realising it. Another trick the predator had learned. Filing in, one behind the other, she clocked her surroundings instantly as the door shifted shut slowly, finally closing with a drawn-out clunk; the internal lock fixing tight.

The room was practically bare, its walls a hard clean metallic, refurbished in comparison to the what the rest of the building had been like, with its scars of industry written all over it. It had rows of strip lighting above and one row of metal framed chairs running along the wall to the left and that was all; no left-over smell pervaded in here, just a clinical cleanliness. With a barely perceptible movement the shorter guard motioned over to the chairs; only the clicking and rattling of his gun against the buckles of his dark grey uniform and the old creak of leather alerting their 'guest' to the gesture. Still without word she swiftly crossed over to them, taking the centre one as the echo of her footfall tapped from the white floor, pounced and bounced off the perfect walls, contained within the space. There were two doors, opposite the way they had entered and the two men left directly through the one closest to her, leaving alone in the bright white silence.

She waited. She listened. Her patience stretched for forty five minutes, at least. In all that time she hadn't moved, only her ever acutely observant eyes never stopped, always on the move. Assessing everything there was to assess. Eventually she was moved to action, the drone of the air conditioning and the lighting driving her to final distraction beneath the cool exterior. She made a swift movement from the fixed and stationary row of melded chairs over to one of the doors. It was not the door the two guards had exited silently through but the other that now held her interest. She'd clocked it long ago; a solid steel construct as were the others, keypad entry. Coming to the far door, with its flawless surface and no immediate point of access, her fingers instantly sort out the keypad to its left hand side. As she had with the first door she had clocked the code to the second; 263945. Security. It was always tight but always, always so dreadfully predictable. Oh well. With the neat clicking song of the keyboard, she punched the numbers in, fully expecting the satisfying sound of the door swooping open, letting out a cold electric blue light from its sanitary confines.

Without a second thought or backward glance, for she liked to live dangerously, she slipped into the cold electric room. And cold it was too. Literally. The first breath exhaled came out visibly, a white vapour. But that was the least of her concerns. Where outside, in the plain room, there had been no visual stimuli, this new room overwhelmed. Through the predominance of the dark electric Prussian blue that made the place feel like one would expect a morgue to look like, unimaginable amounts of wall fixed panels and work stations twinkled with a veritable firework display of colour, all with a purpose, but utterly meaningless to her. All she was truly aware of was how much worse that smell had become that chemical anti-sceptic stench. And as she progressed down the rows and rows of meaningless panels it became worse. Something was telling her that the clue to it lay behind the door at the far end of this technical blue room with its generator buzz and machine life.

It was a clear runway all the way down to the door that was actually further away than it appeared. All the while she held vigilance, listened constantly for an untoward footstep, a warning voice. But there was nothing. Only the buzz. The generator buzz. It slid effortlessly open as she approached it, letting her enter without breaking stride. The same work stations littered the walls, with abandoned and half pushed back chairs and cold mugs of coffee, half-eaten sandwiches, open books lying idle everywhere; a Mary Celeste scene. But this time, glass panels were fixed above the buttons and flashing or stationary lights. As she continued somewhat more tentatively into this new room, she gazed into those glass panels that protected small rooms behind them. Holding rooms, all of which were empty. They were brightly lit, casting out there acid sunlight in perfect blocks. But all were empty and no evidence of a former occupation could be detected, even by the detailed inspection she stopped to give the first one. But as she continued on, she noted something of greater curiosity, through the end booth on her left; its window to the world catching an object around its corner.

She made her way around, for the first time genuinely reticent, wary of what she may find, for she had, in truth, no real idea of the true object of her temporarily held 'cause'. All she knew for sure was that all the instruction she had received so far had been courtesy of a go-between, nothing more than an impostor of a boss, playing the 'Mr. Big'. She edged her way with these thoughts racing in her mind, her step slowing with each one. And as she came to a stop, at the foot of a sub-chamber to the one she was in a strange feeling of déjà vu overcame her. Paris. Back there, in the headquarters of X-Corps; mark uno, the experimental venture; Sean Cassidy's ill-fated venture that was to prove rather fruitful in the end, but only in the hands of Xavier and his own. Wasn't that always the case, she thought spitefully. They had no idea. No idea... But looking at it now...it was like seeing her half-sister there all over again. But in this vat, this time, she could barely recognise its content as a living breathing person. It was a thing. Suspended there in its waterlogged womb, tubes, needles, all manner of things attached, inserted. It was flesh but of what origin she could not discern. It floated. This huge pink mass, ruddy like a Tamworth. Lumpy thick skin, red-black welts, thick, coarse, clear hairs protruding. It drifted. Around it turned, the semblance of an arm crooked around, a protruding belly sprouting with that steel-hard clear hair. Around in the thick amniotic-esque fluid it turned.

She edged ever closer, not conscious of her feet moving. It was not until she was right up to the floor to ceiling tube that she realised; her hand slowly reaching up, her mouth unintentionally agape in captivation. The chunks of black gloved fingers reached up as the internal light of the fluid filled vat shone down onto her fascinated upturned face. A distant beep of life-support echoed in her ears as she gazed up, waiting, waiting with the turning... Its face. Eyes closed, eyes open. One large black-burned pearl... She couldn't stop the small grin of wonder.

"What the hell do you think you're doing in here?"

Mystique span around.

* * *

_**Westchester....**_

She had given it an hour or two. She had now finished her first classes, but all the time Jean Grey-Summers mind was not on the task in hand. Not at all. She was uncharacteristically unfocused throughout her Physic Awareness class; a little endeavour that Charles had put her and Emma, of all people, on to attempt to hone the budding telepaths abilities. It had been going fairly well, except for Frosts insistence on rather wayward intrusions on various celebrities' cerebral space. Apart from that everything was going well. Or as well as one could expect for two people who held an immeasurable contempt for one another. But all these other distractions aside, she had been unable to concentrate. The intrigue was too great. Far, far too great. She had to find Ororo and she had to find her _now. _

Picking up her papers as her twittering pupils filed out of the airy classroom, with its large panelled Victorian windows clutching their books, she thumped their bottom edges on the desk to straighten them and placed them in the red plastic holding tray. She knew that Ororo had headed for the greenhouse before she'd had the chance to catch up with her earlier that morning after Scott's meeting. But she doubted she'd still be there now, four hours later. The woman may have loved her small sanctuary, but even she had limits to the amount of time she would spend in there. Even after lengthy absences. She forewent the convenience of scanning for her whereabouts and decided instead for the much more conventional approach of simply looking. Sometimes the simplest things gave the greatest pleasure, the best sense of normality.

As Jean walked along, the halls were swarming; an ants nest, a bees hive, more than ever before. She still found it fairly odd, having so many bodies about the place, as, she suspected, did most that had been there for years, since the very beginning. Hank, Bobby, Warren and Scott; all having had this impossibly big house as their own, from such a relatively young age, younger than many of the pupils that now resided there. And despite their predicament, the things they had to endure, it still held fond memories for the redhead and her old compadres. She enjoyed wondering around, thoughtlessly, but with so much consideration. She hadn't done it in a long time, such a long time... The halls had emptied now as she walked wistfully along them. Back to their other classes or into the pupils' recreation room. Jean was now left in peace to ponder the past and look for her friend; the urgency and excitement growing as she ducked into the kitchen, then the old drawing room and then library, all in search of her. But in the end she found her in the most predictable place; maybe not the greenhouse but the next best thing as far as Ororo Munroe was concerned; the conservatory at the back of the west wing.

Padding along the deathly quiet hall that led there, Jean picked up on the most min_u_te of psychic vibrations, enough to tell her that the Windrider was in there and so headed, in a beeline, to the destination.

Fingering the leaves of the potted yucca on the window sill, the delicate hair underneath waxy white spikes brushing between her thumb and forefinger, Ororo stared into the middle distance. She sensed the shift in the atmosphere, the slightest stir alerting her to a bodily presence. At first she was hesitant to turn, but the lightness of step made her realise that it was her best friend had caught up with her at last. Letting the long stiff leaf spring back from her fingers Ororo turned around, taking off the dirt caked gardening glove from her right hand and laying it on the work tray with all her tools. "I was wondering when you'd catch up with me," she stated with a knowing smile.

Jean returned it as she came around the cherry tree and sat herself down on the pale wicker framed chaise lounge, leaning on its one arm rest. Her eye caught on the golden and ebony flash of a Swallow-Tail butterfly, imported from the greenhouse, fluttering gracefully by to gain purchase on the spinally fragile branches of the cherry tree. "Feeling rested?" she asked on a completely different note. Obviously, she was leading up to her true purpose, slowly.

"Yes, much better thank-you Jean." She wheeled the tool-tray over to its home, tucked in an unobtrusive corner of the conservatory. "But I have a feeling," she continued as she made her way back over to Jean, "that you did not come here to quiz me on the state of my health." Now the smile held a mischievous air.

"Well...no." As she tucked her feet under her on the chaise lounge; one of the most senior members of the X-Men looking for all the world like an overexcited fifteen year old; all glistening eyes and Cheshire cat looks. "So...you and Remy." The grin widened, "Remy and you." She cocked her head, waiting.

Ororo laughed softly as she reached for one the chairs from around the morning table and pulled it up closer to where Jean was, but she remained tight lipped, simply regarding her friend who by now looked fit to burst from curiosity.

And soon she did. "Come on 'Ro! Spill it!" she yelped as her feet flew back to the floor and she lent forwards in near salivating anticipation, red locks swinging this way and that. "What's going on?"

Ororo sighed, gazing in consideration at the heavens. "How to say...?" she whispered to herself almost, "Remy and I are..." she paused, agonisingly.

"Are what?" Jean prompted.

"Complicated," she said definitely. She glanced out the tall windows to their left, out over the afternoon peacefulness of Westchester. "Remy and I are complicated," she confirmed gravely with a nod.

They went silent for a short time, as if thinking this over. For Ororo it simply scratched the surface of what she had been trying to get her head around all morning; the sudden feeling that had gripped her in Remy's room. Fear? Doubt? She'd been out of the loop for so long she had no idea what it was she had felt. Everything had taken the velocity of the Tokyo bullet train and there seemed to be no getting off. Perhaps that was it, that was what irked her, terrified her even. The feeling of having no control over events. Was that it? Was that all? No. She'd only just scratched the surface...

"...I know you two have always been close," Jean's clear voice cut through Ororo's thoughts so precisely she wondered if she'd been talking the whole time and she'd simply phased it out, preoccupied as she was. "but...Remy?" the redhead remarked, suddenly seeming a little bemused as if the idea had finally sunk in, even though she'd had more of an inkling than most and longer to process the idea. "Remy and you!" she finally exclaimed again and clapped her hands together and held them before her mouth, but Ororo could still see that ruddy Cheshire grin present beneath. Letting them, still clasped, flop down into her lap she flustered, "He's just so..."

"Something of a roué?" she put to her, rather amused by Jean's reaction, but entirely expecting it. The redhead was about to utter something mildly appeasing, but Ororo got in there first. "I know, I know," she gestured, "I am perfectly aware of his faults Jean—as he is of mine, lest you forget." (Jean now looked positively apologetic for being so presumptuous.) "We are none of us without blots on our copy books."

"True," she said quietly, nodding absently in agreement. "I didn't mean anything by it, you know that 'Ro."

"I know, my friend. But I can see what you are trying to say and if I am honest with myself, truly honest then it is something that concerns me too...It is hard," she reluctantly admitted, "knowing his nature as intimately as I do." She looked dismayed for a second, glancing up at Jean from beneath a lowered brow, "Remember," she continued with a devilishly secretive tone in her words, "I am his closest friend. He always told me everything."

"Everything?" Jean ventured, her emerald eyes wide with sparkle and coy expectation.

Ororo pursed her lips, cringing to repeat it but doing so none-the-less, "_Everything._" Remy's ventures and conquests were legion and notorious throughout the mansion but only she had knowledge of there truth and detail, to an extent, he at least had some modesty. At the time she took in his tales with fond amusement as she lay half asleep, only half listening as she fluttered into a dream state, serving up half-hearted reproach when appropriate, soft laughs at the romantic scrapes and often humorous entanglements at others. But for all that there were only ever two women who truly entered that locked box of secrets, that place that no thief's gadget or pick could ever unlock for him and she had no clue. No clue what his heart truly held. Of course he'd spoken to her of both women, but not really, tripping around with abstract words, making sure it all stayed at arms length—from her and perhaps from himself too. On those true feelings, the ones that mattered, he remained as closed to her as he appeared completely to the outside world. The unknown was a frightening thing; the most terrifying thing of all. She didn't know everything then. She knew nothing. _Nothing._ The knowledge made her heart sink but she betrayed nothing of that to her friend, who continued oblivious.

"It's just that, for all your closeness, I don't think there's going to be anybody in the mansion who _isn't _going to be surprised by this."

"I am sure you are right," Ororo pondered, thinking for the first time about outside factors. Not that they would have too much of an effect on what she and Remy decided to do. They had too much to clarify betwixt themselves before they thought of anything else.

"Don't get me wrong," Jean said quickly with a dismissive hand, "I'm not saying anyone's going to judge you, you're both adults. You can do what the hell you like. You're not exactly Paige and Warren." Both women laughed a little guiltily at that one. "But seriously, all I meant was, the two of you have been so close, such good friends for so long, I guess it's just a bit of a bolt from the blue that the two of you feel more for each other than that..." she trailed off, catching the look on Ororo's face, "what is it? What's wrong?" she asked as she shifted forwards to the edge of her seat.

Ororo looked conflicted, "Nothing," she said softly, "...and everything, I suppose." She sifted through the pieces raked up, tried to get them in order for her own understanding before she offered them up to Jean. "I have not had much time to put any of this in order, so forgive me if I cease to make sense...I think...if I am honest, truly honest, I am..._scared_." She spoke as if it were a revelation to herself, a word she'd plucked from nowhere, the darkest depths. "That's it," as if now it were the simplest, most obvious thing, "I am scared." And she hated to admit it personally and outwardly, for Ororo Munroe refused to be _scared._ Not anymore. Perhaps that was her biggest weakness, to admit to _having _a weakness, or the inability to. Her inner anger at her claustrophobia was testament enough to that. She did not like to be made to feel weak by anyone. Pride could be a terrible thing. And this whole situation had burst that open, wide open.

"Scared?" Jean asked, understanding but not at the same time, "what of?"

Ororo hitched her shoulders slightly, before stumbling into her reply, "I do not know...of—of losing everything I suppose."

"Losing..." Jean looked distant for a moment, one balled hand slowly rotating in the pale palm of the other, "I see," she said quietly as she returned to Ororo, "You're scared of risking everything you already have together," slowly she nodded as she glanced over green fields to her right, "I get it now."

The Windrider sighed forlornly as she grazed her fingers through the now shaggily growing hair at her temples, taking a moment to rub at the sensitive skin beneath. "It is all such a mess Jean," she admitted as she slumped back into her chair, "he does not know whether he is coming or going and looks to me to reassure him. But...but how can I when I am not even sure of myself."

"Does he love you?"

_...Je t'aime..._

She heard the declaration clearly, as if he were standing right there but the question from her friend was put so abruptly that it took Ororo a moment to order the words never mind process them and then discern an answer. All the time the warm roll of his voice trickled down her

_...Je t'aime..._

"I...do not," she absently rubbed a light finger across her bottom lip, her brow bent down like sand ripples, but then she steeled herself, "ye...," the confidant word stopped, "I think so."

"And do you love him?"

She smiled sweetly at that, her heart trembling in her chest as she thought of all the moments that had come to pass and the word was so simple, so light in comparison to trying to say it a moment before it ventured forth of its own accord, positively flowed...

"Yes."

"Then it's worth the risk, isn't it 'Ro?" she said earnestly, the question mark nothing more than rhetorical. "Yes, you may get hurt, but then again, you may not. We know more than most that nothing in this life is certain. How things, the people that we love can be snatched away from us at any given moment. 'Ro...are you content to sit back and let it just walk away from you...again?"

It was a truth that cut deep, but one she needed to hear, the one that had been tugging away at her heart the whole time. Sink or swim. It was her choice. Would she let the past repeat itself through her own insecurity? Was the risk worth the price? She loved him. He _loved _her. Put that way it seemed all too simple, as if it would drive itself to its own conclusion. But bitter experience had told her that it was not so, for either of them. Why, oh, why, couldn't it be that simple?

"It could be."

"Jean!" Ororo exclaimed, only half serious in her admonishment of her best friend. "What would the Professor say at you snooping on your friend's private thoughts?"

"In this case?" Jean hypothesized with mock gravity, "I'm sure he'd wholeheartedly agree that you needed a kick up the ass, using whatever methods available."

"Jean," she chuckled with dismay, "you are simply too incorrigible!"

"Ah! I'm sure you're right," she laughed, "But seriously sweetie, if you feel for him the way that I can sense you do—and believe me, being around the two of you for more than a couple of seconds is all it took to tell for sure—you should just...go for it!" Sometimes only the vernacular would do.

"I realise what you are trying to say," Ororo replied after she'd calmed down a bit, wiping the joyous moisture from her eyes, "and believe me, I wish I could simply throw caution to the wind—no pun intended," they chortled again, "but it is...hard. It is hard for me to break from the habit of a lifetime." Then with the look that could only be described as that of an urchin, that gleam sparking like the brightest star, she muttered, "...or at least it used to be."

"Oh Ororo, do tell!" Jean asked furtively, encouraging the liberated sense of self that was starting to exude from the usually restrained weather-witch.

"Incorrigible!" she repeated with a shake, her smile now beaming. In a funny way this was exactly what she needed---all the tension melted away from her shoulders and back like butter on hot toast.

"Ororo, I'm your best friend," she feigned the puppy-dog look, "You know you can tell me anything. In fact," she pulled up her back poker straight as if to demand sincerity, "it's your duty to tell me everything."

"Oh really," Ororo smirked, looking at the redhead through sly eyes.

"Yes! It certainly is," she insisted. She shifted or moreover shuffled along the chaise lounge, closer to Ororo's chair at its foot, leaning in almost conspiratorially, "So how, urr, _close_, did the two of you get, exactly?"

"Jean, I do not think that is really—."

"Oh come on!" she laughed at Ororo, the only X-man to wilfully flaunt her 'birthday suite' without a hint of shame, playing the prude that she knew quite well that she certainly was not, "I'm not asking for the gory details Missy, just...you know? How serious did things get out there?" Jean raised a playfully salacious eyebrow as she swayed backwards for effect, hands coyly splayed over her knees. "You can tell me." She gazed at her expectantly.

"Do not tell me to 'come on' Jean, we are not teenagers." She felt a little better at the return of her decorum. "We are grown women, I hope above the idle 'tittle-tattle' of our students."

"Oro—ro," Jean said in a sing-song voice, mischievous as an urchin herself as she urged her to confess. "Don't play coy. I mean, you've heard me ramble about Scott enough times—the good _and_ the bad."

Ororo shook her head and stood from her chair, tying to suppress a grin that was desperate to break-out. "I have things to attend to," she said as she started towards the doorway. She stopped briefly at the outer ledge, crammed with rough terracotta pots, to cull one or two dead petals from a rapidly fading pink veronica, leaving the perished appendages to decay naturally in the swarthy dirt. But as she went about the task, she casually called back to Jean, "Let us just say that the rumours of a mole...," she looked back over her shoulder, sapphire glinting, "are true.(#)" Equally as laidback as her words Storm exited the tepid conservatory, leaving her now open-jawed Mrs. Grey-Summers to contemplate that little gem alone.

* * *

**_The Medi-lab..._**

It had taken hours but finally the tests were complete. Scanning, poking, prodding; Remy felt more sore and intruded upon than he had before as he slipped off the solid plinth, barefooted to the icy cold ground. He looked quickly about his sterile surroundings as he did up the buttons on his sleeveless shirt, covertly trying to listen in as Hank and Annie muttered between each other in the adjoining room; the rush of the tap and the cleaning up of medical instruments, enough music to obscure what they were saying from the Cajun's eager ears. Unthinkingly he rubbed at the bruised nook of his left arm as he rammed his feet into his still laced-up trainers and crept closer to the small room where the mansions finest medical minds were mulling things over.

"Well, am I clear, or am I clear?"

Hank and Annie turned quickly to look over their shoulders, a little shocked by the loud interruption of the rough drawl but not surprised to see Remy standing there as bold as brass, fiddling with his last button as he lent on the door jamb.

"Well?" he prompted.

"To all intents and purposes Remy, yes," Hank said as he turned and came towards him; sharp feline eyes running over the sheet on the clip board he held before him. He pushed his tiny glasses back up his snout and looked up, "You have a more-or-less completely clean bill of health. Although you could stand to cut down on that unsavoury habit of yours—or better still, give up completely?"

"Yeah, yeah mon ami," he said dismissively as they both went back into the larger room, "If I wanna smoke, den I'll damn well smoke! Remy been nagged 'bout dat one enough t'anks."

"Obviously not _quite _enough," Hank insisted.

Remy was about to say something in retort when a more pressing task came to his attention; Annie walking past them both, both hands steady on a tray of blood samples she was taking to the other lab for the tests Henry insisted she run on them.

"Ma chère," he caught her at the elbow to bring her to a halt, "can I jus' say _s'excuser_, from de bottom o' mah heart," he offered, prying one of her hands, that was utterly reluctant to let go, from the tray. Bending down to it as he brought it to his lips, "mah behaviour wuz appallin'—t' be so _grossier _t' a femme is unforgivable." He finally laid the kiss on the back of he hand, winking up at her entirely bemused face.

"O-kay," Annie said, looking down at the man as if he were certifiably insane and then scuttling out of the room as fast as her precarious load would allow. "Apology accepted." Her words were quieted by the swift closing of the door.

"Don't worry you'll get used to it," Hank called after her as her steps rushed down the hall. "Pure sociopath," he muttered with a sigh from behind him.

Remy looked back at his compadre with his lop-sided smile, "Hey, who says I don' mean it?" he said with a cryptic look before he started towards where the school nurse had left, "If dat's all Chewbacca, I won' trouble you no more an' be on mah way."

Hank quickly held up a hand, again his eyes intent on the reels of information, scratched down in a near illegible hand that only he could understand, "Not just yet Monsieur LeBeau."

"What is it now?" he groaned as he stopped in his tracks and reluctantly turned.

"First of all, I entirely reject to being compared to an illiterate humanoid with a complete inability to articulate," he rebuked jokingly, "I only want to discuss a couple of things with you Remy," he motioned to his desk in the corner but remained focused on the clip board, "It won't take long, I assure you."

"Yeah," Remy said sarcastically as he made his way over to the waiting chair anyway, "Dat's what you said t'ree _hours _ago, mon ami."

Hank was completely oblivious by now, gesturing toward the vacant chair once again in that professional-doctor-with-his-patient way he sometimes unwittingly had about him. Remy duly plonked himself down, his increasing desperation for a cigarette imploring him to drum his fingers on the arm of his chair as he hooked the ankle of his right leg up onto his left knee, holding it there with his non-drumming hand. "If dere ain't nuhddin wrong, den what's de problem?"

Finally Hank put the board down, "Oh, it's not a problem," he twisted his mouth in a strange way, as if considering something, "...not a direct problem, as such. Just some odd readings, that's all. Nothing detrimental you understand. But never-the-less..."

"Yeah, dis is great, an' I'd be happy t' listen t' you babble till de cows come home jus' as much as de next man," he said shortly, "bu' could you jus' get t' de point?"

"As you wish," Hank acquiesced. "It's something I noticed when we ran the endurance tests when you activated your powers. A fluctuation, of a sort. The way your body processed the kinetic energy was much different."

"Mebbe it jus' 'cause mah powers are back t' what dey were 'fore Sinister tinkered wit' dem?" Remy offered, not too perturbed.

But Hank shook his head as he leant forwards on his desk, his elbows resting on several bulging files that were strewn in disarray over it, "No, no. I thought about that and compared the readings with the results of one of your team medicals _before _Sinister altered them. They were radically different." He sat back in thought for a moment, rapidly tapping his forefingers together, or the parts of his paws that passed for fore fingers; the thin claws 'tinking' shrilly, "Is there anything else you can think of that happened that you've neglected to tell me? No matter how small or inconsequential it may seem."

"No homme," Remy shrugged, "Remy tol' you ev'ryt'in' 'e can remember. T'ings went a bit hazy, know what I mean? Draggin' you're ass t'rough de Amazon half dead can do dat."

"There's no need to be facetious, my friend. That's my job," Hank jested, "But are you absolutely sure? All you can remember is the surge that hit you when you touch the box that contained the object. Nothing else?"

"Oui, oui," he answered quickly, "how you mean, _a fluctuation_?" he asked, referring back.

"It is difficult to explain—."

"Well try."

Hank sat back, pushing the spring rest backwards, "The nature of your ability puts your body under a great deal of stress" he began to explain, "—especially your cardiovascular system—."

"In laymen's, Hank. In laymen's," Remy interrupted before a spout of technical jargon that he wouldn't understand a word of assaulted his ears for the next ten minutes straight.

"Your heart and your blood vessels," he obligingly clarified before continuing, "the explosive kinetic energy drains on every cell in your body, putting everything into over-drive each and every time you use it. It's like a—a battery, of sorts," Hank simplified. "Luckily your body can recharge, reenergise, allowing you to utilise it over and over again. If it didn't you'd have drained yourself completely the first time you ever put your powers into use."

"You mean, I'd 'ave killed mahself?"

"In a word; yes," Hank exhaled heavily, "But your body obviously adapted to the process, that's part and parcel of your mutation. But..."

"Dere's always a 'but'," Remy uttered wearily as the drumming of his fingers fell into a steady thump.

"But, your body isn't processing or dealing with the strain of them in quite the same way as it was, as rapidly as it was. I detected fluctuations in your cardio—heart—that seemed febrile, and at times they went way off the chart."

Remy laughed, shortly, without humour, "An' you call dat a 'clean bill o' health'?" He slouched forwards, swinging his raised leg back down and clasping his hands loosely between his knees, "I'd hate t' t'ink what you'd tell someone if it wuz terminal."

"I know it sounds bad Remy, but believe me, I'd have you lying in that sick bay, completely hooked up if I thought it was that serious." He got up from his chair and went to the water cooler that stood just behind him, putting a small white plastic cup into the dispenser. As the water flowed down he continued his reassurance, "All I'm saying is your body is no longer used to the pressure that it once sustained. You were out of commission for quite some time and I just think your cells are simply finding new ways to cope with its sudden and _abrupt _return." He offered the cup out to Remy but when he refused with a curt shake of the head the Beast took a sip of the cool liquid as he perched his large frame on a clear corner of his desk, "It might even be connected to a secondary mutation, who knows?," he continued, "My research on the matter is so preliminary that I've only just begun to scratch the surface."

Remy remained quiet, considering all this at the same time as allowing himself to be convinced that it wasn't all that bad after-all. He rubbed his hand over his mouth and cleared the gruff feeling in his throat and then asked, "So what you sayin', jus' take it easy wit' de powers fo' a while? 'Till I get use' t' dem again?"

Hank nodded as he took a larger gulp from the cup that looked so dainty in his massive paw, "Basically, that is what I would recommend." There was more, but he was eager to have time to study the tests results in greater detail, time to work out what was shaping up to be an intriguing puzzle, from a scientific point of view at least. "It's a shame that the thing was destroyed, it would have been fascinating to find out its secret—what powered it, what allowed it to kick start your bio-kinetic signature, though I have my theories."

"Yeah, shame," he mumbled dryly. He couldn't care less, he was just glad to have seen the back of it. If indeed they had.

"It must have been comprised of some kind of modified atomic structure," Hank carried on regardless, lost in his own hypothesis, "Something about it must have corresponded to the intrinsic signature of your mutant make up—like some kind of 'supernatural'-battery. And this said battery had been sitting on a charger for hundreds of years, the charger in this case being the volcano. This is all speculation of course," he said cursorily, "but it's the best I can come up with for a plausible reason for why it restored your powers. You are an energy converter. Think of it as using jump leads on a car. The object not only shocked your dormant volatile kinetic abilities awake again but it also used you as its transistor. I'm sure on that basis and the fact that it had absolutely no effect on Ororo that, say, Scott or Alex would have experienced a similar reaction to handling it—your respective genetic-structures, in terms of your mutations, being so similar."

Remy nodded to all of this but his mind seemed far off, his demeanour quite vacant.

"Remy?" he called with a hint of concern, emerging from his own cerebral world, "I can assure you, there's nothing to overly concern yourself with, my friend. Let's just think of the most positive aspects, at least until I can study the results in more detail. And of course, the outcome of the blood samples Annie took for analysis."

"Whatevah," he said as he quickly got up, "I jus' need t' get outta here, de lights are startin' t' give me a headache. I need some fresh air."

Hank watched him go at first but soon hopped down from his desk, crushing and discarding his empty cup into the wire waste paper basket, "Wait a minute," he requested to the hastily retreating back, "I think I'll join you. It can get rather trying down here after so long." It was an excuse of course; being clearly obvious that Remy shouldn't be on his own right now, Hank decided it best that he impose his own company upon him. Remy didn't object.

* * *

After a brief sojourn to the kitchen for a couple of cold beers, the two X-Men went out onto the front lawn that was fairly peaceful now that classes in the mansion had resumed after the lunch break. Under the shade of the slowly malting poplars that clustered close to the east side of the house, the pair sat quietly in the gazebo that was already beginning to collect discarded leaves about its white-washed fixed furniture and eaves as if it were a magnet for them. They ruffled and scuffled about the worn back paleness of the decking as the afternoon wore on; one patiently waiting for the other, more than content to. Half the bottles of amber nectar gratefully drained in placid meditation as they watched nothing in particular, lost in their own concerns.

"You can talk about it if you wish," Hank said evenly; eyes restfully closed, his head turned up to the shaft of early autumn sun that peaked from beneath the octagonal slopping roof of the aged gazebo.

"Hmm?" Remy uttered as if genuinely disrupted from some heavy rumination, looking over at his companion through glare guarded eyes made small. "Don' worry 'bout it mon ami, it ain't yaw problem," he told him, believing that would be the end of it, idly twitching his feet back and forth as they rested up on the central table, crossed at the ankle. He took a deep breath as he drew an arm around to the back of his head in lieu of a pillow and supped from the hand-warmed brown glass, the beer inside now a little flat, but no matter.

After a few moments Hank continued, as if it were of no consequence, "Wouldn't be anything to do with a certain leggy, white-haired goddess, would it?" He sipped his drink, not giving so much as a sideways glance, though he now felt the ebony eyes most definitely on him, devil-red pupils burning like a laser.

"Ain't none of yaw—."

"Knock it off Remy," he sighed without pretence or artifice, "I'm not a stranger, I'm your friend." Now the big blue giant faced him fully, pouting expectantly, "If you can't talk to any of us, who can you confide in?"

He swept his hand back through his uncombed auburn hair; the man had a point. When he thought about all the times in the past where he had needed the confidence of somebody, had needed the compassion, the understanding, it had always been her. _Her_... His...The full force of this change, this transition hit him, his breath almost knocked from his lungs. She had always been his _this_, his _that._ His best friend, his confidant, his Stormy—a claim of possession had always lain between them. Some ownership, some link, some connection and consideration deeper than the everyday interaction of persons. But there had never before been that hint there, that spark of romantic connection, what passed between them had always seemed more...earthy, more profound. Though now he found himself hankering after her, in the most surreal of situations yes, but in reality its truth shinned through. _He loved her, he loved he_r, _he loved her_. He found himself having to repeat it again and again, each time a new thrill, a bright discovery; a discovery that terrified and delighted him in equal measure; her performance earlier not doing the least to sedate his fears. That's what they were. Fears. The type of which he'd only felt twice before, enough to tell him that his feelings were true. They were real. _It _was real. She. _She was real, _for perhaps, the first time. It was only a matter of time before Hank asked or Jean caught up with him. He should really have felt it a relief... "Where do I start?"

"The beginning is always the best, Remy," the fuzzy blue giant informed deceptively lackadaisically, pushing his glasses down against the glare of the lazy sun.

"De story would be too long an' too borin', trus' me."

"I'm sure not," he countered.

Remy considered for a moment, his hand pressed to his beer-moist lips. "Somet'in'...'appened," he said brokenly, "somet'in' between us changed...fo' de bedduh?...I don' know." He paused... "It jus' _changed._"

"How?" he asked simply.

"I don' know," he repeated, looking non-plus. "I only know dat t'ings 'ave changed, Remy be feelin' dat...'e _loves_ her..." he screwed his mouth up, not daring to look over, "...at leas' 'e t'inks 'e does. He certainly wants t' believe 'e does. It's all 'appened so fast mah heads still fuckin' spinnin' homme."

Hank scratched at the shaggy tufts of fur at the side of his face, thinking all this over and having absolutely no idea what to say. Always a man of science, affairs of the heart, he was now convinced after his recent experience with Trish, were not his forte. In fact, he wanted to think of them as seldom as he could. It would be better to let Remy talk _at _him, so he remained silent and the Cajun duly obliged. Though he stagnated for a time, not sure of what to say or how to explain but simply feeling the overbearing need to talk, to offer something up. It had always been _her _in the past that had heard all he had to say or as much as he was willing to give. And she had listened, even when he had been unwilling himself to let her truly know, truly say what he wanted to say. Speaking to another party now of such things made him feel awkward, treacherous almost. Too late he realised the sublime confidence he had given up and it made him feel adrift in a sea. A sea of dead calm, deceptive calm, nobody on the raft but him. Carefully he unpicked the words from the jumble of thoughts as if unravelling a tapestry, at pains to select each one before they all tumbled, uncontrolled, out of him... "mebbe it wuz inevitable, ya know? It wuz only a madduh o' time befo'e we ended up in de sack t'gether." At first he tried to reason with himself, going through the process. Close feelings plus sexual need equalled a misguided love affair—no, not a love affair, _a fuck_. Confusing loss, need, compassion for something more than it was...but even as he sifted through these reasons that had made more sense since the events of that morning, in his bedroom, he knew each to be a lie. The type of lie he was used to telling himself as a form of protection, so much it had almost become truth. His form of truth anyway. Truth had not much currency in his world. That was the problem... "Ah'm jus' kiddin' mahself, I know...Ah'm jus' sick o' dis shit," he said, exhausted with everything.

Hank suddenly shifted, "Wait a minute—did you just say you've already slept with her?" It took him a little time to catch up.

Remy looked across at him as if he were the most naïve humanoid being he'd ever met, but then he opted for the better part of valour, appreciating that some members of the team didn't see the world in the colours that he and his 'Roro did...and that thought alone was enough to perk his spirits. It brought back to him the uniqueness of their union, their connection. "Yep, the deed is done an' dusted," he teased sardonically.

"Remy!" Hank rose to the goad, then instantly felt foolish for having done so.

Remy chuckled and took a sip of his beer, letting the gap grow. Eventually he said, "Look, I don' wanna mess de girl around homme, I got no intention o' lovin' an' leavin'. She mean too much t' me," he said sincerely, "Way too much."

"Really?"

"Yeah," he replied soberly, the brown bottle close to his lips, "I jus' wish I could convince her o' dat." He took a large swig, letting the rim pop from his mouth when sated. "Don' really care too much if no-one else 'ere believes me or no'...as long as she does, Remy be happy."

Hank ruffled his chin once more, then inclined his head to look over at the other man; him, staring resolutely ahead. "I presume you've told her all this?"

He paused for thought, but not for long, nestling his bottle down in his lap, held steady between long linked fingers as he said, "In a manner o' speakin'...yeah."

"In a manner?" Hank posed sceptically.

"I tol' her I loved her, what mo'e she want?" He suddenly took on a peevish look, his brow creased with all the worry of the world it seemed, its annoyance too; remembering his confession and what felt her rejection of it.

"And you think that was enough to convince her?" Hank sounded slightly incredulous, "I thought you knew women, Remy," he added smugly as he joined his companion in slouching down lazily into his chair, feeling the afternoons sun baking his thick coat, uncomfortable in such conditions. "Pure sociopath," he added under his breath, repeating his earlier statement, simply to rile.

"V'ry funny," Remy said back wearily, dismissing the jibe. "You don' understand de way me an 'Roro work---she know me bedduh dan dat--." He stopped short, wondering for the first time, through the myriad of possibilities that had spun around his mind in the past couple of weeks, if he had that right at all. Did he think too much of their connection to presume her complete trust? But then everything that had happened between them told him that she must have known, _she must_. She must. But still, perhaps she had the right to doubt him... "I do love her though," he said in complete clarity as if it were the first time, the first _true _time. "I may be a gambler by nature, bu' I wouldn' risk dat much...I wouldn' risk what I 'ave wit' 'Ro fo' nuhddin."

"I can see that my friend, you don't have to convince me," he said, "But maybe there is someone you do have to convince, because it sounds to me that Ororo isn't quite so sure about this as you are."

Remy sighed as he fished a cigarette out of his pocket, "I know she ain't," he said bleakly as he brought it to his mouth and lit it. Taking a swift drag, he continued, "I realise dat now...I wuz a fool fo' t'inkin' uddahwise." He had been genuinely confused by Ororo's sudden reticence earlier, but now it all made sense because he was willing to admit it, to see it for the first time. If he was in her position would he trust himself? There was no way he would. So why should he expect it automatically of her? He had been a fool, a pure blind fool.

"I'm afraid with out dear Windrider it will take more than meaningless phrases and a few nights of passion," Hank said after the silence with his tongue firmly in cheek.

"Don' even start," Remy laughed half-heartedly. He'd never hurt her, not like that.

"It's quite simple, Hank said after a time, "you've got to be one-hundred percent honest with her—about everything. That's the only way for a woman like Storm to trust you with her heart and you know it Remy."

Remy gave a tepid grin before continuing to smoke contentedly on his cigarette; his outer self in complete contrast to his inner self. "Quite de 'sage' ain't ya," he commented drolly, but his appreciation for Hank hearing him out was clear, his uneasiness at sharing so intimate thoughts with some-one who despite being a friend for a good amount of time now, was still an outsider to him and his naturally cautious nature, was overcome, albeit temporarily. It was a nature few had ever managed to penetrate, and it was the greatest irony and misery for him that the one who was the closest right now was also the one furthest away.... But honesty. Honesty was what it all boiled down to he guessed. Had he the guts to truly lay it all on the line for her? For he recognised the absolute truth in his rotund friends words. That really was the price, the price for everything. If he wanted her, he had to let himself be completely vulnerable. Completely, resolutely, _absolutely._ That terrified him more than anything else. But the spirit was willing and that was enough. And so he relaxed, with his friend and his beer and his smoke and watched the quiet world of Westchester go by. And soon, he'd see her and he'd convince her that he'd meant every single word. There was no way he'd let another slip through his fingers as he had in the past.

No way.

Remy turned to Hank, making a show of finishing the last of his beer And then suggested, "I t'ink it's time we started de bourbon."

-TBC-

(#)—for anyone interested in where this particular factoid came from, check out 'Brood Trouble in the Big Easy'© 1993. ;)


	19. Chapter19

**As ever, sincere thanks go to all of my reviewers.**

**_About the medical file; I wrote this on the understanding that Sinister tinkered with Remy's powers for a second time when he helped him return from the nineteenth century, and to a certain extent made them stronger (during the New Son and Assassin Game sagas in Gambit vol.2)I could be wrong though as I didn't follow either story line to its full conclusion! :)☺ _**

**Chapter. 19.**

**_Near Khmel'nyts'kyy, central Ukraine..._**

"I said, what are you doing in here?" The woman's certain autocratic tone, compounded by the deep rich Slavic accent, resonated through the laboratory surroundings. This time her words were reiterated in perfect English, the accent within giving an inclination of an education at Harved or Yale perhaps.

Darkholme's initial surprise had quickly subsided, only her annoyance at being sneaked-up on remained and encouraged her undoubtedly haughty air as she withheld even the slightest inclination to respond immediately. "Who wants to know?" she eventually said, whilst casually and calmly reaching for the small firearm, the one that had gone undetected, the latest light-weight acrylic design, by initial security, concealed behind the belt line of her functional combats, at the back.

Stone cold cobalt fixed on the mutant from the Eastern European scientist; the mutant comfortable in her natural guise, for everything else about her was a ruse of sorts.

"Dr. Oksana Yevshan." The short slender woman introduced herself with minimal social etiquette; the two armed guards at either side of her (different from Darkholme's initial escorts) gave her that leeway. "Now I say again, who the hell are you?...and I won't repeat myself."

For the first time Mystique noted the almost arctic temperature of the room, her breath feeling crisp as it whistled lightly past her lips. "Darkholme," she intoned steadily, never flinching from the battle of wills that she now found herself locked in, "Raven Darkholme. I believe I have something you important wanted to get your hands on." Without looking away from the shorter woman, Raven reached into her jacket, the weather-proof bulk of which was enough to disguise the package she now intended to present. Within her hand was a back velvet parcel, a small sack of sorts, which she now held readily, but did not seem quite willing to deliver it.

"So you succeeded," Yevshan asked rhetorically on seeing it, unintentionally breaking from the stand-off, distracted by the sight of the velvet-clad package. "I had my doubts, I must admit...," she looked her up and down, slowly, "but Klischko was certain enough." She involuntarily pursed her lips a little, "I see he was right."

"You get what you pay for," Darkholme told her matter-of-factly, but not quite smugly. She made as if to hand the box over, Dr. Yevshan meeting her halfway to take the object, literally rising to the bait. But at the last moment, she snatched it back, much to her opposing figures distain and indignity.

"Don't play games," she said with the coolness that disguised a deep vexation, all but gritting her teeth. "Hand it over."

Mystique looked ponderously down at the object in her grasp, tipping and tilting it slightly as if out of great curiosity; a priceless jewel in her palm. Then, looking back up at the slender doctor; the light from behind her tinting her dark cropped hair with bluish gold highlights, the men at either side of her seeming completely impassive either way, she answered, "Not until I receive my fee. In full."

"Fine." As soon as she'd obdurately uttered the word, Dr Yevshan turned on her heel, her guards automatically doing likewise, their physiognomy completely blank of the merest hint of expression; clicking tin soldiers. Though, all three soon did an about turn.

"Oh, and there's one other thing." She awaited their full attention, smirking slightly despite herself, perhaps the sway of power intoxicating, as it always was. "I want to know who I'm working for."

Yevshan huffed dismissively, tucking her hand into the deep pockets of her pristine lab coat, her ID badge clicking rapidly as it flapped against the breast pocket. As she leant nonchalantly down into her hip, she said casually, "Mr. Bovary. You've already been briefed on who the acquisition was on the behalf of."

"Yes," Raven said obviously, placing the parcel back where it had been concealed, "But didn't you think I'd do a little checking of my own before I did the job?"

"And what did you find?" Yevshan shot back, perhaps a little too confidently, taking a step or two forwards.

Mystique nodded, "The man checked out, I have to admit," she was still nodding in that slow methodical way that can be thoroughly disconcerting, gradually starting to amble around as she spoke, "he came up as 'civilian clean' as you'd expect any true crook to be. But you see, that was just the problem." She stopped, gazing sharply over, "He was just a little...too clean."

"What do you mean?"

"I me—an," she sarcastically prolonged, "The guys back story seemed far Even the things I unearthed from his 'other' contacts, they didn't have the right...smell about them." She smiled to herself, "You kinda learn these things when you've been in 'the trade' as long as I have."

Without warning Dr. Yevshan broke into a forward stride, coming right up to Darkholme, face to face, immediately launching into her quasi-diatribe with her Slavic drawl, "Do you really think we have the time, money and patience to mess around," she gave an unexpected flurry of the hand, whipping it out from her pocket, "wasting our time inventing stories about some fictitious head honcho, when we are dedicating ourselves to serious scientific research, the type of which has never been attempted before?"

Mystique stopped for a minute, as if genuinely considering it, but, of course, her shrewdness never allowed her to entertain it for a moment. "Yes. Yes I do. In fact that gives you every fuckin' reason in the world to invent a head of operations when your stock and trade is illegal experiments." She glanced around the room and all its perceived oddities. Yes, she had been weary and suspicious before but what she had seen in here had been the icing on the cake. She cared not a jot about their true purpose, but still, she hated to be deceived herself. She always had to know the score and if these people didn't sit well with that then—tough.

"They are not illegal," Yevshan countered.

"I couldn't care less one way or the other, lady. I just don't like being fucked around when I'm working on a job this big. I just want to know why the destruction of the Guilds was so damn important to this client. It doesn't seem to quite...fit." Raven waited, seeing the hesitation although it was only seconds, one or two at most. They were enough for her perceptiveness to detect.

"I couldn't tell you," the Doctor answered definitely, "I only work for the man." She paused, licking the dryness off her lips caused by the cold of the laboratory, or more likely the nerves of a lie; the body language obvious. "My team and I don't involve ourselves with that side of his activities. We're paid to do a job and that's what we do." Turning she continued on her way, again the drones wordlessly following, though their thick weathered fingers clutched more readily to the triggers of the old Soviet standard issues. "So if you want your money, you'd better follow me." She threw this last comment over her shoulder, almost in vain hope.

Mystique hung back for a moment, her hand resting over the bulk inside her jacket. It didn't take her long to figure out where her priorities lay. Be stubborn and waste all that effort she'd put into the job or follow and gradually find out, as she knew she would...eventually. She was soon following the scent of the _green_.

_**The Xavier Institute...**_

Some space was needed for the both of them and they intuitively obliged each other, without even exchanging a word or so much as seeing one another for the rest of the day, or indeed the night. The time had passed undeniably slowly; she getting back into the routine, throwing herself mindlessly into her duties as a teacher and he...well he spent the entire evening and most of the time after the witching hour on various danger room simulations (post-bourbon session with 'Henri' that was). Trying to forget what Hank had told him, trying to forget the Bayou, trying...trying not to think of _her. _It was Alex that eventually stumbled across him, himself unable to sleep as was often the case since his traumatic return to the mansion, having decided to go down to the danger room instead of lie aimlessly, lifelessly in bed next to Annie. He watched the Cajun from the observation deck for a while, going through simulation after simulation until physical exhaustion nearly killed him through lack of concentration. It was approaching dawn before the Thief retired to his bedroom; freshly bloodied and bruised, thinking that Warren's miracle cure wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.

The best part of the next morning had been and gone before their paths crossed again.

Remy sat in the empty boathouse, half a mile from the main house, throwing an old gnarly tennis ball against the west wall of the living room, again and again, pounding against the far end, catching it only to release it again. The hollow pock sound echoed around the practically furniture-less open plan room, built to resemble a rustic log cabin. His arm ached just as much as the rest of him but he carried on in his monotonous occupation, just for the hell of it, simply for the distraction. Even as the back door creaked its tiresome welcome he didn't stop, her espadrilles making not a sound, instead waiting for her to come into the room before he let that hit be the last; the fuzzy yellow and white ball rolling to a stop against the dust sheet draped sideboard.

"Aft'rnoon chère," he drawled, not once shifting from his position, but he felt his stomach muscles tense and a flourish of his heart as her remarkable scent drifted over him; as delicate as one of her breezes. To distract himself he picked up one of the first fallen leaves that had wafted gently in, scuttling across the floorboards and slowly let it burn bright magenta with raw, hot power. But he didn't let the contained explosion take hold, instead drawing it back into himself like a vacuum. Was it just the power of suggestion after what Hank had told him, or could he genuinely feel mild palpitations? He wasn't sure, but he'd been thinking about it non-stop when he was in the danger room. Relaxing his fingers he let the leaf fall.

"Afternoon," she replied softly as she came to a stop by the French doors that led down to the jetty, smiling at the almost inappropriate formality. There was a small flurry across the grass and through the slowly slumbering oak giants, gently whistling down to ripple across the lake. She watched passively, waiting, wondering. The moment may just have come, she thought calmly. But still, she waited...

"You feelin' bedduh now you rested up a bit?" he asked looking at her directly for the first time; _soigné as ever, he thought._

"Yes," Ororo answered neutrally as she continued to gaze out at the musings of the soft breeze, "though I almost forgot about the stressful rigours of teaching," she added lightly as she turned to face him finally.

"Well, Remy wouldn' know 'bout dat," he replied, it seemed somewhat penitently, as if his lack of purpose that he'd felt so keenly before they left the mansion had been given the chance to gradually return.

"Perhaps you should consider giving it a go?" she proposed fruitlessly, knowing full well how he felt about the idea but not being able to resist the tease.

"Don' even go dere," he laughed with playful warning, "If Charlie boy 'imself can; persuade me, den you go no chance girl!"

"Shame," Ororo said, slowly starting to amble into the room, "I was hoping that my methods of persuasion might be somewhat more _palatable _than Charles's."

Remy raised a sharp auburn eyebrow whilst trying to withstand a face-splitting grin, not sure whether it was derived of mirth or astonishment at hearing Storm make such an inappropriate insinuation. "I can see I'm definitely havin' an adverse affect on you petite."

"Ah!" she exclaimed softly as she came to a stop at the roughly cobbled stone mantel, leaning casually against it, "some would say I could stand to 'lighten-up' a little."

"Some like who?" Remy asked, cocking his head in intrigue.

"Like my French class this morning." She was in equal parts vaguely amused and perturbed by her students' mutterings that they actually _preferred_ Scott Summers teaching them. The infernal cheek they had to suggest that he was less authoritarian than she was!

Remy made a dismissive noise and waved his hand, "Ignore dem chère," he said. "What do dem pups know, hien? Dey ain't seen de Stormy I know," he winked. "Dey only seen de prim an' proper school ma'am, not de li'll _garnement_."

"Thankfully," she smiled.

An unexpected lull suddenly took hold, unexpected in that a silence between the pair was usually as comfortable as the flow of their conversation, but now it seemed alien. It highlighted starkly how much their relationship had shifted, awkwardly so. But it only took courage to overcome it, the courage that the break, however small, had offered them both.

"What we gonna do 'Ro?"

Ororo turned to Remy and was instantly put in mind of the simplicity of the question Jean had asked the day before; complexity could sometimes be easier to fathom than clarity. It demanded far less...

"Be honest." She stated it, most factually. She could have taken the easy way and posed it as a question but preferred not to although her heart was thumping from anxiety.

Remy inclined his head, his shoulders shaking slightly in silent laughter. "Dat's funny."

"Why?" She did her best to hide the anxiety, managing by and large to succeed

"'Cause dat's exactly what Hank said," he duly informed her.

"Hank?" she asked, surprised. The two had never struck her as 'bosom buddies', in fact the last time she could remember them really talking to each other, back on the ice rink, just before the splinter of the X teams they had been far from it. But then again they seemed to have made a mends for that at Destiny's mansion. Still, they had never been what one would describe as close.

Noting Ororo's quizzical look, Remy replied, "Oui, Hank. Who else could I speak to?"

She thought and then realised the answer, voicing it swiftly but calmly, "Nobody, I guess."

Remy smirked, inclining his head a little, "Bu', I 'ave t' admit de big man made me realise somet'in'."

"And what was that?" she asked calmly as she moved to lean her back against the hard ridge of the mantel, clasping her hands lightly at her midriff.

"Dat there was no point speakin' t' no-one but you," he said with a rare earnest lilt, never failing complete eye contact. "Though, I t'ought a night apart might help us both clear our heads."

"Yes." And it had, it truly had. Pushing off the mantel she approached him, her skirts swishing deliciously, sumptuously about her ankles, her strappy white top hugging her figure delightfully, set off perfectly against her skin just like her hair. And again that natural scent drifted over him as she came nearer; imploring him to hold her, just hold her. But he resisted, somehow. Sitting down, lotus style not more than two feet away from Remy, Ororo engaged him as if curious, curious as to what other conclusions he may have come to over the night. "Alex said he found you in the Danger Room last night---or should I say this morning."

"You know me chère, a good physical work-out nevah did me no harm in sortin' de ol' tête." He tapped his temple as he drew his legs up, draping his long arms over his bent knees.

"I suspect Alex was there for a similar reason," she pondered.

"Oui," he nodded, but was keen not to be veered off subject by idle small talk. "Bu' we ain't here t' discuss de tangled love-lives o' de rest o' de mansion, are we?" he said matter-of-factly.

Ororo smiled knowingly, swiping at her fast-growing rather thick fringe as it fell down into her eye-line. "No, I suppose not."

Remy's heart almost broke at the elegiac beauty of her gaze; at once the confident Storm he knew and loved so well but also a type of..._vulnerability _that he'd never seen in her before. The fact that she endeavoured to make no attempt to disguise it made it all the more captivating. He leant forwards, mirroring the crossing of her legs, coming a little closer to her, close enough to take on her china-delicate sable hand in his. He studied the nimble piano fingers as he started to speak, running his touch over each one as though examining their worth, like diamonds. But to him they were worth far more than that. _Perfectly priceless_... "I can imagine what you been t'inkin'. I couldn' see it at firs'," he plundered haltingly forth, "bu' I do now—I can see—."

"You can see what Remy?" she interjected mildly, "This isn't all about you, you know."

"I—I know... I just thought..."

"My doubts were because I could not trust you?" Ororo finished for him. "Perhaps you were right, but then again not," she added cryptically, her eyes shifting to the ground as the vulnerability vanished as swiftly as it had materialised. "You know that I would trust you with my life, with my soul...I did that long ago and have never looked back for you have _never _let me down."

"But," he said quickly, drably, about to echo the words of the day before, not wanting to say them but knowing he had to, knowing it had to be put out there, in the open, "but you don' know if you can trus' me wit' your heart, is dat it?"

She said nothing immediately, concentrating on the way his fingers continued to play with hers, lightly, _intimately... _"No," she said eventually, shaking her head slightly, "that is not the whole truth of it. Surely you can see that?"

"Non," sitting up slightly, he continued, "dat's de problem chère, I don'," he said honestly, plainly. "I can barely see anyt'in'."

Nervously drawing in and wetting her lips, Ororo considered how to proceed. This was so hard; ever the expert in helping others, never the expert in helping herself. She felt pangs in her chest but remained calm to all intents and purposes, though the whole situation still had her in mind, as she feared it might, of that day, that awful day when Forge... She dared not think about it, lest she bolt from the boathouse there and then. "There are so many things, so many reasons," she began tentatively, "why—_this—_should not work." Remy felt his heart sink... "but then, there are so many why it could, it _should,_ that I can not fathom any of it. My instinct is telling me yes, but in my head, I..." She closed her eyes.

"Den mebbe you should listen t' yaw instincts." The Cajun played Devil's Advocate, "fo'get yaw head."

She smiled, peeling open her eyes, letting him see for the first time the pure torment, but the teetering nervous hope too. "I am not used to giving reign to my instincts." She was put in mind of their Amazon confidence about her inability to be able to let go, relinquish her responsibility. "That is the one thing I find impossible."

"Remy'd say different," he confidently espoused with a roguish smirk, swiping his bothersome hair from his eyes.

"Almost then," she accepted demurely, smiling shyly. She had acted on instinct, and that was part of the problem for the ever-controlled weather-witch. Not that it would do true damage to anybody else, but the mere fact that she was not used to acting how her heart told her made the whole thing seem positively alien when she had the time to brood on it. And she had certainly had plenty of that. "Though that is largely irrelevant," she insisted, thinking of everything she had done over the years, "there are other things, other reasons—."

"Quit tryin' t' make excuses 'Roro," Remy implored weakly, he didn't think he could stand it if it was to be drawn out so. "If you wanna let me down gently, don' bother. Jus' do it."

"No, no I don't," she explained with relaxed laughter, leaning forwards, "I have already told you that is the last thing I want. Please, believe me." She said it before she even realised...but knew it to be true. "I just need you to understand...this is not—easy. I do not deal well with the opening of old wounds."

"Ol' wounds?"

Ororo steeled herself, ready to speak of things she had buried deep for a long time, things she had hoped never to even think of again until recently. "You are perfectly aware of the way things turned out for...for Forge and I. I had my doubts yes, but I overcame them. I was ready to give up my life here, everything I had worked so hard towards with Charles and the rest of the team so that for once I might indulge in some selfish happiness that seems to come so easy to others...so fortuitously." She realised her own entwined grip had become much stronger, unintentionally so. "I saw happiness, true happiness within my grasp at last but before I could hold onto it, it was pulled from my hands." She paused for a moment, feeling her throat becoming think with an almost painful swell, "I have never, _never _forgotten what that felt like, the pain of it slipping through my fingers as I watched it fall, frozen, unable to do anything to stop and unable to look away. It was more than a kick in the teeth Remy, it shattered me. I would never admit it—," she hesitated but soon relinquished, "to anyone other than you I suppose...but for a while I thought I'd never get over it. I felt there could be no-one else because, in truth, I would never allow there to be."

Remy silently listened, taken aback somewhat by this open display. Even to him, this was a rarity. Though he certainly felt privileged to hear it, and in his heart of hearts, relieved. He said nothing, instead watching carefully at her pretty down turned face, the occasional shudder of her ruddy full lips, the flutter and sweep of dark long lashes and the fall of longish bangs. But then, it was unfathomable, why a woman such as she; so giving, so unselfish in the extreme, should envision a life without the love she deserved. "Bu' why?" He asked before he could stop himself.

Ororo could understand his confusion; it was not easy to explain. "I can see what you are saying but it is easier for you—you who have always been free and easy with your emotions in that respect—used them like you use the tools of your trade." She raised a knowing eyebrow, "More a lover than a thief, as they say."

He smiled but remained silent; yes, he could not deny he had 'put it about a bit' as it were. He was content to concede that; his own lovers had been numerous to the point of being beyond memory, his bed-post holding so many notches it was practically a twig, though he was not ashamed. But he understood, he comprehended completely that Ororo's experience in such matters was limited and her knowledge tainted. Though what she had to say next smashed through this pre-conceived perception somewhat.

"Even so, after I while I did entertain the idea again—the idea of their being someone," she stated to his unreleased surprise.

"Slipstream?" Remy asked quickly.

"No," she stated softly, although there was a flirtation, brief as it may have turned out to be. "No, no...I wondered, for a time, if Nathan and I—."

"Nathan Summers?" he exclaimed, "Cable?!" This time there was no abating it. She was certainly the expert in keeping her secrets under lock and key, "you nevah tol' me!"

Ororo looked up and smiled at him sweetly, "Because there was nothing to tell. Nothing came of it. It was a—fleeting thought—on both our parts. As it was, events overran us and that was that," she explained promptly. She had never intentionally hidden the fact, but had seen no reason to impart it either, before now. It was a non-event. "I have not seen him since. That was almost," she stopped whilst she thought on it, "nearly three years ago now."

"You a dark horse Stormy," he said furtively with a definite gleam in the ruby brightness of his eyes. "What uddah secrets you got tucked up yaw sleeve, hien?"

"None, I can assure you," she answered with a quick laugh, "and it is not exactly a _secret._ I would hardly broadcast a fruitless speculation through-out the mansion. Nothing came of it after all."

"Okay, okay," Remy smiled, "I can see what you tryin' t' say—dat you don' get int' dese t'ings lightly. Believe me, I know how much de Maker hurt you. I had some pretty dark t'oughts 'bout what I wan'ed t' do t' him when 'e walked out o' here, trus' me," he told her gravely. "You put yaw trus' in someone completely, an' dey let you down. I jus' wanna say, 'Ro—." He inclined forwards and cupped her chin, gently making her tilt her head back up, leaving his hand there against the soft firm curve as he looked into the deepening blue that shimmered, "I ain't Forge. I promise chère, I won't—."

Ororo pulled back suddenly, unexpectedly, easing her hand from Remy's firm hold, turning away from the sharp heat of his confused gaze, now burning upon the side of her face. "Promises are like—like a thin layer of ice over a pond Remy," she said wearily, coming close to bitterness, "made to be broken," she added, her voice almost dropping into a whisper.

"What?" he asked a little sharper than he intended, "you t'ink I'd hurt you—jus' walk out on you when it suited me?" When she said nothing immediately he seized upon it, that accusatory silence, not giving her the chance to explain, rightly or wrongly, "You t'ink I shared yaw bed—dat I'm sleppin' wit' you—jus' fo' sport? Fo' cheap t'rills?!" She tried to speak, but he charged on, "Jésus 'Roro, you really t'ink so little o' Remy dat you believe I'd do that?"

"Don't let's quarrel sic Remy, that is not what I said," she replied in perfect calm, not wanting things to escalate by adding full to the fire unnecessarily, "It is not what I meant...but you must understand, I have hung my heart upon a promise once before, given it over freely and had it returned with a slap for good measure. Have you not listened to a word I have said?"

Remy took a breath to compose himself, pinching at the bridge of his nose as a slight ache passed behind his eyes. "Yeah, I'm listenin'," he said, sedately, "Can I say jus' one t'ing?" Ororo nodded, waiting, "De Maker hurt you bad an' you reluctant t' get yaw'self hurt again, bu' don' you t'ink I ain't suffered in de past too? I know how t' hold people at arms length 'Ro. But de Maker, 'e was nevah good enough fo' you chère. Don' mean dat I'm sayin' I am, bu'...I'm jus' askin' fo' de chance t' try, s'all." He pinched his lips together as though it were an involuntary reaction to such unobstructed truth coming from between them, perhaps in fear of what he knew he would say next, unable to disguise his verisimilitude... "I've fallen in love wit' you girl an' dere ain't nuhddin' I can do t' change dat. I can only give mahself t' you an' hope you'll give me a li'll back in return." His chest was almost painful with the burning, he almost couldn't believe he had said it...

The weather witch soon surprised him for the second time in minutes as she leant forwards and kissed him, hard but brief, holding his face in her hands. Just as quickly she settled back into her former position opposite him, "I believe you Remy, it is not your feelings I doubt," she said with complete conviction, "And I hope you believe me when I tell you that I do return them—_absolutely._"

Without words the charming thief reached forwards and took hold of both her hands this time, before settling back once more, taking her with him. She soundlessly settled against his chest, nestled between his legs like she had been on the roof just over two weeks earlier, when her world was a sharper, simpler place. But an emptier one too.. She was content to be held by him for a while and he seemed equally at peace just to have her there, to feel her in the cocoon of his embrace and his body. The window pains rattle slightly in the autumnal gusts that patted the cool disused house from time to time. Every now and then an errant breeze forced its way beneath the French doors or through a miniscule gap, invisible to the naked eye, between the sills and the glass. Her voice sounded small against it, against the enormity of nature's silence, "Do...do you think we will miss..._us_?"

"Miss _'us'_?" Remy asked, his auburn ruffled head tilted, pressed to the crown of her snow white head, "In what way?"

"This," she said almost nervously, "Our friendship."

Remy chuckled warmly, "If it a bes' friend you want, go t' Jean or Kurt. Anyway, why would it mean t'ings will be any different between us? If anyt'in', it'll make us closer, stronger."

"What makes you so sure?" she asked, relaxing into him all the more as each minute passed, letting her lids droop.

The Cajun didn't want to get into this right at this moment, but it seemed appropriate for all her openness he could at least do the same for her. Hank's words of wisdom echoing in his mind. "'Cause I know what it's like" he said, "to have dat person you love so close t' you in everyway. When you know what they gonna say befo'e they even say it, sometimes you even know what dey be t'inkin'." He spoke as if taken by nostalgia, that hazy sepia tone that always had note of regret and loss. "I was too young an' too stupid t' see a good t'ing when I had it, we both were." Bella. Ororo did him the courtesy he had shown her earlier and listened wordlessly and, yes, intensely. Finally, finally the door truly began to creak open. A bright sharp light fell onto her from the slim crack... "Don' you see, bein' wit' someone when it's like dat, it's...it's de bes' t'ing. Can't you see dat?" He shifted his head to look down at her, seeing her soft look, her smooth up turned lips.

"Yes." It was a relief, the fear melting away as it did. She could see her self-sabotage for what it was, making excuses as she always did, making excuses and creating reasons to keep people at arms length, as he did too. They were two of a kind, in some ways. In many ways that they had only just begun to appreciate for real. But now, at least, they had _time_.

"'Roro," he drawled warmly, so it rolled from his tongue, "I promise—." He was cut off by a sharp but playful nudge to the ribs.

"No promises," she warned.

"Okay, okay," he laughed, "no promises from me chèrie." He kissed the crown of her head and then moved to her forehead, then down to her right temple as she pulled her head back, turning her face up to him. "I jus' want you t' know, I won't nevah let you down...nevah. Remember in de Amazon I said I'd be dere t' catch you...an I meant it—." He was stopped by a finger to his that silenced him instantly as Ororo turned her body into him, bringing herself up onto her knees.

"That was beginning to sound like another vow," she narrowed her eyes at him as she ran her finger slowly across his mouth before leaning in to kiss him briefly.

"Alright," he said, feigning deadly seriousness, "I promise I won't make you no more promises from dis moment on."

Ororo burst into laughter, throwing her head back; one of her true, full laughs that not many had the privilege to hear. He hugged her to him all the more, loving this woman in his arms all the more as each minute, each second passed. Remy was content to hold her forever, like this, as he had in the forest, cocooned by nature's omnipresence. It was like being surrounded by _her, _and he couldn't get enough of it; fresh rain and morning dew drops. His mind wondered back to how restless he had felt just weeks into his return to the mansion, on how his instinct of flight began to pulse within him. But Ororo never made him feel that, when she lay there, tranquil in his arms, the soft press of her body. He didn't feel anxious, nor did he didn't feel alert or edgy. He realised she made him feel he was _home. _Wherever she was, that was _home. _Here... Home, as they say, in the most fatuous of clichés, is where the heart is.

Ororo felt safe at that moment, her doubts laid too rest. Not that she was fooling herself; she knew perfectly well that it was likely to be anything but easy. Though like Jean had said, the risk would be worth it. A coursing thrill ran through her, not unlike that which was present when he touched her; the thrill of anticipation, the electrification of desire... As her face pressed to his steadily rising and falling chest, taking in that familiar soft smokiness infused with a mild, warm cologne she believed completely, for the first time, that this was possible. Happiness with _him _could be hers.

Pulling her up a little, Remy took Ororo's face delicately in both hands and kissed her; slow and deep. They stayed like this for a time, their kisses becoming chaste in a manner, innocent, wondrous, nervous, tender and excited. But all was in complete honesty. For the first time, this, they, them, were there, at this moment of complete truth, showing the truth of them. It was a self-abasing love in their previous minds; their uncertainty cruel. Though no vows were exchanged, no unfulfilled promise, this was who they were, what they truly meant to each other. It was unquantifiable yet absurdly simple; it was convoluted yet lucid. Nothing was set, the infancy of their love as fragile as a new born, but robust and healthy. They could do this. They could. It was a simple matter of seeing what fate had in store. But at least they were both prepared to make the risk.

Laying her down, they kissed and it was determined...they would bed there in the Boathouse for the night.

-TBC-

There is a possibility that I may not be able to update for a long while, but I will try. Always grateful for feedback, M'iko, xx


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer; I do not own either poem used in this chapter from the 1957 volume 'The Hawk in the Rain', the copyright of which lies exclusively with Ted Hughes and Faber and Faber©

Thank-you to all my reviewers and I apologise profusely for how long it has taken me to get this chapter out. I should e a little more regular with my instalments from now on!

**Chapter.20.**

Summer was already giving out to the first days of autumn. September had rushed by, with all that had gone on in those days and October was marching on with surprising efficiency; the leaves of Westchester County already showing the first signs of an elegant death in a maelstrom of vivid colour, awaiting its inevitable rebirth. The air was awash with the fragrance of fresh decay, the small groups of leaves mouldering together at various places about the mansion, gathering at doors, blocking the guttering, creating yet another task in the ongoing list of general maintenance of the old yet sturdy abode. And everything inside had carried on as normal, with some kind of genuine routine, a strange phenomenon for the ever-changing situation in the transient institution. And so it was for the newest couple therein. They had settled into their fledgling relationship, taking things a step at a time, no expectations or unrealistic hopes. Of course the general tittle-tattle of the mansion had worked the news around eventually, inevitably. But they were hiding it from no-one. After-all, they had nothing of consequence to hide. It was only of consequence to each other. The natural progression of the news had spread like wildfire; first Jean innocently mentioning something to Scott within the natural course of pillow talk, from which he deduced the new situation but did not expressly say. All it took from there was an off-guard remark to Emma during one of their 'talks' and it only confirmed what she had already suspected; that phosphorous bright flare burning ardently. From there it had only taken a careless word from Hank to Bobby in the middle of a game of pool and the news was out in earnest. Bobby to Jean-Paul, Jean-Paul to Annie, Annie to Alex, Alex to Warren, Warren to Paige, Paige to Jubilee and inevitably, Jubilee to the rest of the mansions inhabitants. By then there was no stopping it, but they had nothing to hide. The news was a surprise but accepted. Who had the right to argue? Even Charles accepted the changed relationship with a certain benevolence, though he worried about his surrogate daughter, as any true father would.

As for Ororo and Remy themselves, the road had been unsteady but full of wonder and new discovery, a joy to transverse. They had spent nights together and they had spent nights alone; the slow, languid pace at which they were prepared to navigate this new love. They had talked like the close friends they were and they had spent evenings canoodling on the sofa like lovers do, engrossed in one another. It took time for this to come about, Ororo particularly feeling hesitant about such open displays of affection, but they had settled into it and by the third week they felt that they had never been otherwise. It was as if this had always been so between them, this extension of their existing relationship. But there remained a diffident air at times, like all fledgling lovers, not that they kept vacillating, but simply finding this new path one steady foot at a time, searching it out, blind. They talked, they kissed, they embraced, they sat silently upon the rooftop, upon the hill at the back of the mansions expansive lawn; her between his legs, leaning back against a lean warm chest, enveloped, feeling the calm and the truth of being with a partner for the first time. It was not a million miles away from the friendship and that offered a definite comfort, for them both. And at night, at night they made love in surrounding warmth of the dark or the shrill light of the moon and it was beautiful, it was natural, it was perfect, it was home. She awoke one hazy morning, her hair adorned with the soft blue of picked cornflowers, settling in the quickly growing white tresses like small sapphires in a soft fresh bed of snow. One night she made the most amazing sunset for them, for him, a post rain sunset, an autumn sunset ablaze with all the riotous colours that it afforded; brilliant reds and dazzling gold under, brandy glazed copper; a cool strip of azure with a fresh zephyr for accompaniment, the clouds a purple veil; all of this for him, all of this for her; their own haven. And for the first time in months, perhaps years they knew the meaning of what it truly was to be alive. They began to notice little things about each other, the things that lovers do; the little endearing idiosyncrasies. The way he always slept with one leg from the knee down uncovered by the sheets, the way she rubbed her nose every now and then with a soft groan in the early hours when deep sleep was availing itself and the waking hours were beginning to set in. The little things that even as friends, as close as they were, who shared a bed on occasion, had not noticed until intimacy, true intimacy, had come to them.

But it was not all flowers and amazing sunsets. There was ordinary life to contend with also, the crux of everything. Ororo continued to teach, relishing the challenge as well as being deterred by it; Miss Frost's cuckoos returning from Europe, well after she had come back to join Alex and Jean-Paul's talking tour, proved a particular handful, perhaps the history between the two women colouring their opinion of the Weather Witch. Whilst Remy, he had remained himself though he would help out more around the mansion but not before he had tried at least to discover his father's fate and the state of the Guilds but so far to no avail. An iron curtain had come down around the entire city it seemed. In a similar vein the search for Mystique had, thus far, proved fruitless; Xavier, Jean and Emma each working in Cerebra in stints, a seemingly none sleeping Kurt attending a vigil outside the high-tech chamber at most hours of the day. It was only when he was implored by Ororo, or Jean, that he would retire in earnest. Even then his understandable reluctance only allowed him two or three hours rest at best and then there he would be, stationed like a sentry, outside Cerebra, waiting. Always waiting, and for all his sorrow, not sure why. Why was he bothering? His inexhaustible capacity for love and forgiveness astounded even him at times. Still, he offered prayers, magnanimously so...

The clock had just struck one o'clock and Ororo was stood at her desk, neat to perfection, as always, not a paper or book out of place, in the positively luminous and spacious classroom that she had abandoned several weeks before, not yet sequestered by the returned Emma. She picked up the weighty soft-edged duster that lay idly on her desk, scuffed and fluffy at its edges and took it to the black board that in the true light came up a murky dark British racing green rather than the prescribed black. Methodically she swiped away the Arabic letters one by one; ش ص ك ي ٣...adorned on the board in her easy and quick looping script. She felt she had made a little headway with her few pupils, which was a progression of sorts. Going down and down and down until she reached the protruding wooden ledge, she lay down the fine-dust filled wiper down on its coloured chalk-stub straddled surface. There was almost a reflection from its matt surface, a dim smudged mirror image of herself. The white locks nearly scraped her shoulders now, fast growing; their thick wavy length curved into a nineteen twenties style bob, though it was more fashionable shaggy, irregular at its edges. She ran a hand absently through it as she turned back to the desk with smart taps against the regulation parquet floor. She picked up a pile of the students work, shuffling up the small amount of papers that had been handed in for marking; her first batch for the current semester. It felt undoubtedly strange but also a relief to settle into the routine of the Institute, getting into the swing of teaching proper for the first time; there had been so much chopping and changing, and with all of them, in truth, only just getting used to such a normal profession, the relatively normal of life of everybody else.

The soft juvenile voices resonated along the corridors on their way to the lunch break; cat-calls, jovial laughter and teasing accompanied by the pound patter of feet and swinging doors and the rustle of rucksacks. Ororo was in thrall of all this, enraptured by the beauty of gentile routine, something that she had not before realised she craved. A love by her side and a vocation that equalled that of being an X-Man. But she was cautious, life as a super-hero had taught her to be so...she did not count her chickens until they were hatched. She simply awaited the next mishap, the next catastrophe. At least relief was now there, a distraction, something to subsume a person...speaking of which.

"Hey chèrie."

Remy LeBeau swaggered into the classroom; lose jeans and ripped-sleeved white t-shirt adorning his still Amazon tanned body, showing it off to great effect. Stealthily advancing on the Windrider he enfolded her with an easy grace, pulling her close to a fast beating heart. Just seeing her there filled his heart with something that had not been within him for quite some time—though he reproached himself for it. What was he, fifteen again! He implored himself to get a grip.

"Hey yourself."

Ororo was instantaneously brought within the loving arms of warm sprightly cologne and recent tobacco; lean, well-constructed limbs holding her close, her back pressing tightly to his chest as he settled his strong square jaw into the crook at the side of her neck. She doubted she would ever tire of such a feeling, putting her in the mind-set of someone much under her years. But she allowed herself to indulge in it, thinking that she had earned the right for such satiation. Letting her head rest back against his shoulder she asked, in the hushed tone of the contented, "What are you doing up here anyway? I thought you had agreed to take a student Danger Room session with Scott?"

"Ah, oui!" Remy rocked her playfully from side to side, "bu' I wasn' really needed---'e had it all down on 'is own. I t'ink he jus' wan'ed t' give Remy somet'in' t' occupy de time."

Ororo turned herself around in his arms, meeting with a more than welcome soft and lingering kiss. When she finally found it within herself to pull back, she said, "Perhaps---or perhaps some bridges were long overdue for repair?"

Remy smiled and shook his head, "Non," he said, "dere's nuhddin t' repair---we're cool about dat. Don' you worry."

She looked at him with a fond note of scepticism, "As long as you are sure?"

He leant in and took her lips once more; a light kiss of reassurance. "You know Remy chère," he said, tightening his hands at her back and pressing her closer to him, if that were possible, "I ain't nevah been one t' hold a grudge."

"No," she smiled, before giving him a small peck, "no you haven't." Moving her hands from where they rested, cool palms flat on his chest, she snaked them up his chest, rubbing across his neck until her fingers slid effortlessly into his thick flopping hair. It felt unbelievably good as her nimble tips massaged lightly at his temples as she unconsciously played with the straight soft auburn strands. "What are you up to then?"

"Jus' a lazy afternoon I s'pose, shootin' de breeze, layin' by de pool---mebbe I'll work on de Harley fo' a while." He winked impishly, "choices, choices, hien?"

"Oh to have a life of leisure!" she said sardonically.

"What can I say?" Remy grinned, "Dere are benefits t' jus' bein' a stand-by super-hero an' not moonlightin' as a teacher too." He laughed as she tapped him playfully on the back of the head, mocking jealousy at his languorous care-free life at present.

"You had better make the most of it whilst it lasts Monsieur LeBeau," Ororo said, shooting his jovialness down, "you know things never stay quiet for too long around here."

"Oui, now I'm back in commission, I ain't got no excuse."

"No, you haven't," she smirked. "Though you would think that stress would not be much of a problem." Her bright eyes suddenly became concentrated as she worked her fingers through his hair, as if searching for something.

"Huh?"

"Well, with all this easy going," she said distractedly as she found the strand that had caught her eye and took a firm hold of it, "premature greying---would not be," she gripped the strand and yanked it quickly to a short but not genuine yelp of pain from Remy, "---a problem." She held the slivery hair up in front of him like a taunt, the smirk remerging.

Remy looked at it, vaguely amused, "Is it any wonder?" He took the longish strand from her slim fingers and let it disappear, floating gently, to the parquet floor, "I ain't been gettin' too much sleep lately." He said suggestively as he leant in and stifled her demur laugh with his lips.

"Or it could be that dreaded date that is drawing ever closer?" Ororo speculated with a mischievous grin as she pulled back, her sapphires sparkling in the stark shaft of sunlight that flooded down into the classroom.

"What _dreaded date_?" he asked with mock gullibility, shrugging his shoulders exaggeratedly.

Ororo laughed softly again, "You know exactly what I mean! In two weeks time you'll be one year closer to the _dreaded _three-O."

"Hey!" Remy exclaimed indignantly, "Yaw only t'ree years off thirty yo'self don' fo'get!"

"That's still two years behind you!" she smirked as they fell into their kiss again, holding each other tight, completely lost in the moment. That was until Ororo noted the scampering of dozens of feet and idle chatter of a teenage hoard approaching her classroom for the next teaching period. "You should go, my next glass is coming," she murmured against his moist mouth as they both reluctantly withdrew, Remy more-so than she. "Seriously Remy, it would not create that good of an impression if the students walked in on us behaving like teenagers in the back row of a movie theatre!" she added when he would not desist.

"Alrigh', alrigh'," he said begrudgingly, letting her weasel out from his firm embrace, but just managing to snatch one more stolen kiss before she disengaged completely, at which point the anticipated students began to file like drones into the classroom; none of them having caught that last incongruous move on Remy's part.

"Hello class," Ororo called a little uncertainly, flushing pink in her swarthy cheeks as she turned to address the twenty odd people that where now taking their regular seats and pulling out their tatty and graffiti-marked exercise and text books, plonking them loudly on their wooden desks. The air that they would rather be anywhere else other than where they were was quite unmistakable. But Ororo did not notice as she rummaged around on her desk, searching for something, leaving Remy looking rather bemused as he watched her. "Here we are," she said, somewhat flustered, pulling out and slim white and blue book, adorned with a series of tiny 'ff' markings to make a kind of montage. "The book you came for Mr. LeBeau," she said as she placed it firmly in Remy's almost unreceptive hands.

But he took it never-the-less, the look of bemusement on his face more pronounced than ever. If she thought she was fooling anyone, she was very much mistaken. There was not a sole within the mansion that did not know by now that the pair had officially become an 'item'. Any pretence about the pretext of his visit was quite clearly pointless. Not that there was any real need for pretence but Ororo obviously thought it unprofessional and inappropriate for him to be there, which in truth, it was.

"I think you will enjoy it," she said with an air of sternness and school 'ma'amishness' to her voice to recover some sense of authority in front of her waiting and strangely silent class. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Angel and Beak sniggering soundlessly, casting furtive looks to their school chums at either side of them.

Remy didn't even look at the book closely enough to ascertain its nature, he simply said a quiet 'merci' and tucked the slim volume into his back pocket, all the while trying desperately not to laugh. But by now he was feeling reckless and decided to play Devil's Advocate. "Meet me fo' lunch?"

"Umm...yes," Ororo said automatically, taken off guard as she tried to collect the lesson notes that she should have been getting in order whilst she was canoodling with Remy.

"Meet you on de patio, 'bout two?"

"Yes," she replied quickly, still not looking at him. But she could have died as he suddenly bent down to her as she busied herself over her desk and planted a kiss on her cheek before he took his leave. And that was that. The students could no longer help themselves; a chorus of gasps and wolf-whistles rattled around the rafters of the classroom and Ororo knew that the slight pink tinge in her cheeks that she knew had been there from the heat she felt had now burst into a pure scarlet bloom.

Remy excited the room with a smirk of pure satisfaction on his face, leaving Ororo to face the chattering and gossiping masses alone. He knew she'd kill him for it later.

**_Outside..._**

Remy went down to the court yard, that nestled snugly between the mansions two wings, swathed in their dense shade, with the copy of Ted Hughes 'The Hawk in the Rain', given him by Ororo, and determined to give it a go. He now realised that the book had not be a random selection inspired by panic, but that she had recommended it to him many a time previous. If he was doing nothing else at present then he could at least attempt to improve his mind, he reasoned. He should at least give it a go.

Settling down into one of the wrought iron chairs that littered the cobble stoned yard haphazardly around small round tables made of the same green tainted iron material, like some Parisian boulevard café, Remy plucked the now slightly bent book from his back pocket, its cover warm with body heat, and flicked through it randomly. He flicked past the title page, the simple two word dedication, and past several of the poems, not sure what he was looking for but waiting for something to catch his eye. He stopped on page twenty one for no other reason than that the poem on the page was short and brisk. The title _'Parlour-Piece'_ sat bold and lonely on the top of the page and with the grit of determination he ploughed into it...

_**With love so like fire they dared not**_

_**Let it out into strawy small talk;**_

_**With love so like a flood they dared not**_

_**Let out a trickle lest the whole crack,**_

_**These two sat speechlessly:**_

_**Pale cool tea-cups chaperoned**_

_**Stillness, silence, the eyes**_

_**Where fire and flood strained.**_

He sniffed undetermined, having to admit to himself that he'd read the words but not really taken a single on of them in. As much as he'd have liked to appreciate them, his mind had simply closed off as it often did whenever he tried to take something in that might be of literary value. He hadn't changed a bit since he was at 'school', if the haphazard teaching they had been given by various good-intentioned thieves could be classified as teaching at all. And even when he was put into a genuine school it wasn't like he ever bothered attending anyway. Slumping back into the rather uncomfortable chair he tried pot luck again, flicking the pages rapidly against his outstretched thumb and coming to a stop at random; page thirty one, _'Two Phases'_.

He began...

**_1_**

_**You had to come**_

_**Calling my singularity,**_

_**In scorn,**_

_**Imprisonment.**_

_**It contained content**_

_**That, now, at liberty**_

_**In your generous embrace,**_

_**As once, in rich Rome,**_

_**Caractacus,**_

_**I mourn.**_

_**2**_

_**When the labour was for love**_

_**He did but touch...**_

...that was that. He could concentrate no longer but lifted his eyes from the page and fell into contented deep thought. Thoughts about how fulfilled he felt at the moment. He could not remember the last time he had felt so at ease. Even with everything that had been left so unresolved after recent events, he almost felt that he had not a care in the world. Without conscious thought Remy pulled out a cigarette from the front pocket of his ragged but comfortable t-shirt as an autumnal breeze ruffled his messy hair, lighting it with the magenta glow at the tip of his right index finger, his already bright eyes glowing slightly with the application of his powers. His mind fell, as it did most of the waking hours these days to her and every moment they spent together. He took a languid toke on his cigarette, exhaling slowly, almost wistfully as he dwelled upon recent memory. Things were going surprisingly smooth for the both of them. The decision to keep separate rooms for now had definitely been the correct one. Only fools rush in, as Ororo had so pointedly reminded him as he would have been happy to shift up to the attic space without a second thought or time to dwell. But she had been the one to keep a level head, as always and as they had decided in the Boathouse, what felt like eons ago, they would take things one step at a time. And he was relieved that at least one of them was able to keep a level head, because with the passion that had been ignited it was indeed a very difficult task. But, as he had found out a couple of days ago, he was not the only one who had Ororo's continuing happiness in mind.

The Professor had accosted Remy on Thursday evening when he was on the way down to pool room to meet Hank, Jean-Paul, Alex and Bobby for a sneaky high-stakes game of poker, feeling confident of stripping them all of their wallets contents. Just passing through the foyer, Charles measured annunciating voice had bought him to a halt. He had started with some rather inane and idle chatter and inquiries as to how Remy was coming on with the return of his powers. But it was clear from the start that it was simply a pretext for the main event. It wasn't long before Xavier launched into a well-meaning yet never-the-less undoubtedly condescending speech about his surrogate daughter's well-fair and warned Remy about his treatment of her, not in so many words threatening him with dire consequences if he treated her as others, namely Forge, had treated her. The message was quite loud and clear even if it was delivered in the calm and homely tone people had come to associate with the Professor. Remy had duly assured him that he had no intention of causing Ororo any hurt and that he would die himself before he did such, but he couldn't help getting the sneaking suspicion that Charles did not quite believe him one hundred percent. Though he could no entirely blame him...Plus, he had to admit that although Charles thought fondly of every X-Man like his own child, the original class in particular, there was no doubting the fact that he saw Ororo in more fond terms than most, as a _true _daughter. And his display of protectiveness that night showed that fact clearly. But, to be fair, Remy was just as clear. He was not annoyed or angry at Charles 'warning', moreover he saw it as a chance to display to the Professor just how serious he was and to convince him that he alone no longer had the full 'burden' of ensuring Ororo's happiness...he would be there for her come hell or high water more so than he had ever been before. Remy assured him that he would lay down his life if necessary, not that he wouldn't have before...but now it was _different_.

His cigarette was nearing its last embers so he quickly took one or two more drags before flicking it precisely into a nearby flower bed. Broken from his reverie, he snatched up the book of poetry before it fell from his idle hand hanging loosely over the stone cold arm of the wrought iron chair. Placing it on the table he eyed it over, deliberating as to whether or not he should give it another shot, but his heart really wasn't in it; poetry and literature had really always been Ororo's thing, not his. Give him a good blast of Keppard, Robichaux, Holiday or Beiderbecke any day...this was the language he understood. The breeze that had at first been cooling turned into chilly wind, rippling through the small trees in the quiet courtyard and the thick ivy that clung to the sides of the house giving Remy the impetus to go to the kitchen and grab a beer and return to the inside warmth. Snatching up the slightly curled copy of 'The Hawk and the Rain' he made his way back indoors.

_**Cerebra...**_

Charles Xavier felt as though his head was about to split in two, his concentration was such. The heavy weight of the Cerebra helmet made him feel as though his head was sinking down into his body as the points that were attached to his main neural receptors began to bite into the skin of his scalp. He had been in there for at least five hours, perhaps more. He no longer had any true perception of time or space, being within the Cerebra chamber had disorientated him so. But then again it was not the usual search. To find a mutant anywhere within the U.S was tricky but not so taxing. If he knew the general area that the mutant was residing in, even if that did entail entire countries, he could usually pinpoint them after an hour or two, at most times less than that. But when the said mutant could be anywhere in the entire world, adding the fact that she had formidable self-taught psychic force-fields, _plus _the fact that she might actually be dead...it made the task near insurmountable.

Although he had not approached the task single handed—having two of the worlds other most formidable telepaths in the form of Frost and Grey-Summers by his side made it much easier. Each of them had worked in shifts near ceaselessly the last few weeks but none of them had managed to pick up so much as a vague residue of her continuing presence. But still, they stubbornly pushed on, with Kurt all the while stationed outside, somehow never giving up hope. He was sat there now on one of the dinning room chairs that he had brought down to the sterile corridor that ended with only one door above which a red neon sign called for complete silence as it always did when a psychic session was in progress. Kurt was slightly hunched on the oak chair, his bright saffron eyes that usually glowed so seemed strangely dull as he absently rubbed the Crucifix that hung from a thick dark necklace of Rosary beads. Their soft clacking was the only noise in the white stark corridor but it was still heavy with silence, the oppressive sought. He was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he didn't notice when the door at the opposite end of the corridor slid noiselessly open followed by light but quick progression of footfall. Jean was almost upon him when eventually he looked up at her briefly; she could see the bags of tiredness the hung heavy from underneath his eyes even with the layer of dark fur that did its best to obscure them.

#How're you doing Kurt?# Jean deftly observed the no noise rule by transmitting the question straight into Kurt's mind, opening up the psychic channel for him to answer back as freely as if he were a telepath also.

#I'm fine Jean,# he said almost wearily, not even bothering to look up from his long held Rosary, still rubbing the Crucifix as if the very act were soothing to him.

#You look shattered,# the Redhead stated as she sunk down to the floor opposite him, crossing her legs into the lotus position. She continued to look up at him intently, as if awaiting an answer. When none was forthcoming she asked, #when's the last time you had a decent nights sleep, huh?#

#I'm fine Jean,# he repeated somewhat solemnly this time, looking down at her for the first time holding true eye contact, #I don't need you to fuss over me—#

#I'm your friend Kurt,# Jean interjected, #it's what we're meant to do isn't it? Show our concern?#

That managed to coax a weak smile out of him; definitely vague, but a smile none-the-less. It was more than any of them had seen for weeks now. #I know Jean and I thank you for it# he replied. #You and Ororo have been especially wonderful. If nothing else all this has reminded me how much everybody at the mansion rallies 'round when a comrade is in need.# His brow creased painfully as he let out an audible sigh, his fist unconsciously clenching around his Rosary, #But it doesn't really lessen the pain.#

Jean's mouth twitched as she visibly tried to conjure something comforting to say but given the subject of the sympathy, she was clearly finding it hard to muster the necessary consoling words. It was true that Ororo and she had performed near miracles in the intervening weeks to think of any good reason for hoping that Darkholme might still be alive. But finally, it seemed Mrs. Grey-Summers was stumped for anything else to say.

#Look...I'm sure...# she began haltingly, but was finding it impossible after endless days of trying. But Kurt soon put her out of her misery.

#It's okay Jean, you don't have to you know. I am fully aware that to everybody here that woman was nothing more than a selfish monster—if I'm completely truthfully I'm inclined to say that I feel the same way.# Jean gave a small smile in response to his grim humour which he thankfully reciprocated. #But still...she was..._is..._my mother and I know I am a fool, and far too soft for my own good. I'm sure Logan would tell me so if he were here.# At that he issued a wry grin.

#Don't be stupid Kurt,# Jean said kindly, rolling forwards to kneel before him as she laid a comforting hand on his knee, #You're nothing more than a caring loving person and that just makes you twice the human she ever could be. Don't feel bad for caring Kurt, it's that capacity for unlimited forgiveness that makes you who you are. You love your mother unconditionally, which should be a two way thing,# her smile became sympathetic as she added #It's just a good job that you're able to recognise her faults with such clarity too.#

#That's kind of you Jean, it truly is,# he said, placing a three digit hand over hers fondly, #but most people I'm sure would call me nothing but an idiot to even bother giving her a second thought.#

Jean shook her head making her loose hair ripple about her shoulders with the unmistakeable air of someone playing for time. #Well...what would they know,# she finally replied, #Besides, most people don't think that, they think you're courageous Kurt. I doubt there's a single other person in this mansion that could say they would feel the same in your position. And that definitely says more about you than it does about them.# She gave him a reassuring pat on the knee before sinking back to her former position, letting a lengthy silence grow between them. She was really stuck for anything else to say now, indeed what she had already said had been nothing more than a repeat of previous attempts at comfort. Not that she didn't mean every word she had said because she certainly did, but it was like talking to someone in a protracted, perpetual state of grief when there was every possibility that they had no reason to grieve at all.

#Have you eaten today?# she transmitted randomly, completely changing the subject.

He shook his head slightly, #Nein,# he was quick to add before he received another lecture about looking after himself, #but I will. I will...#

Meanwhile in the Cerebra chamber nothing had really changed. Charles, although being entirely on another plain, was perfectly aware of Emma's presence in the observation booth, monitoring his vitals and guarding against any unexpected attacks whilst he was so mentally exposed. But even though he was still fully aware of his physical being and the proximity in which it sat, his mind was literally thousands of miles away, his senses telling him that he was floating in an abstract manner. Though that was not the real case but his body had to compensate to make logical sense of such unnatural detachment. Through the chattering, inner and outer, of hundreds and at times thousands of voices the Professor's consciousness travelled. He had been chasing a tantalising lead for hours now, just the random, splintered spikes of a vaguely recognisable psyche. But it moved so swiftly and shut itself off so entirely at times that he couldn't even be sure of the general continent never mind the country it resided in. All he did know was that he was currently somewhere in the northern hemisphere. Not that that was too much help...

#Charles dear,# Emma's cultured voice cut through the layers of perceived fog like a Sabre, #I think it's time you came out. You've been in there far too long as it is.# Back in the observation booth Emma looked from the sliver and diamond encrusted watch on her slim wrist to the various screens that displayed the Professor's heart rate, blood pressure and brain activity. Everything looked normal and stable but still, she didn't want him to push his luck. He was great yes, quite possibly the greatest, but he was not invulnerable.

#I appreciate the concern Emma, but I think I'm on to something.# His mouth began to form a thin line as he tried to fine tune his already formidable concentration even more,# But it's just...so...elusive...# His words stuttered out as though he were physically stretching to grab something no more than a hairs breadth out of reach; the air of frustration was all there.

Emma pouted irritably as she folded her arms across her chest and stared steadfastly at the Professor through the thick glass floor to ceiling window that separated her from the Cerebra chamber. There was nothing, she thought, that could irritate an obstinately stubborn person more than another obstinately stubborn individual. Her admiration for Charles was high, higher than any other of the X-Men would have believed it to be but at times his utter determinism to be the one to solve problems became a problem within itself. Perhaps after so many years feeling so responsible for countless lives had left him with an inability to accede to others when they only had his best interests at heart.

#Seriously Charles,# Emma persisted, #At least let me hook myself up to Cerebra from out here—it might help. I know my connection will be greatly lessened but—#

She stopped short when Charles made a resounding psychic 'shh!' sound and raised his hand to halt her in her tracks. He was onto something...something more concrete than he had felt for weeks... The visions whirled around him as if he had been suddenly cast into the middle of a hurricane but through it all he began to develop a definite sense of place. It was Europe, no question. Slowly more things began to fall into place and the sharp spikes of thought he had been tracing like a bloodhound on the scent of a fox became solid; more a battering ram than random hits. And then, like a ten-ton weight to the mind it hit him so that his head fell physically back with the force of smashing through such well-honed mental barriers. He knew he probably only had mere seconds to pin-point her before she sensed the invasion and cast him out. But Charles Xavier was not known as the greatest telepath on earth for nothing, a few seconds of complete contact was all he needed...And...

#Charles, are you alright!#

There! He had it!

As he quite rightly anticipated he felt himself unceremoniously shunted from her mind but it didn't matter, he had garnered enough information to be getting on with, if not some of the finer details he would have liked to have harvested.

"I know where she is Emma," he said out loud as he proceeded to remove the cumbersome helmet. He looked over to the large window into the booth, his eyes screwed small with the sudden invasion of light after so long in darkness, but did not see fit to provide her with the information. He simply nodded at her in indication to begin winding down Cerebra so that he could leave the chamber that seemed more confining the longer he spent inside.

Tight lipped with a mixture of anticipation and frustration Emma gave a sharp dismayed shake of her head as she began to punch, almost randomly, at switches and buttons, going about the task as was expected of her without a word.

**_Meanwhile..._**

The corridors had been mercifully deserted as Remy wended his way to the staff kitchen at the back of the house; the expansion of school necessitating an entire new catering space for the numerous children. He had only run into Jay Guthrie and Sammy the Squid-boy on his sojourn, who, looking appropriately guilty, were clearly bunking-off a lesson. But Remy had only given them a wry, knowing grin and walked on by without saying a thing to them. It would have been more than a little hypocritical given his school record or lack thereof. The two boy's palpable relief was comical, making Remy chuckle softly as he continued on his way.

He strode quickly across the kitchen once he was there; his lanky legs making short work of it as he yanked open the fridge and pulled out a beer. A little early granted, he told himself, but just the one wouldn't hurt. He lopped the metal top off with the Swiss army knife he always had stowed in his pocket, the one that had more than a few 'extras' necessary to his chosen profession. Slamming the door back shut as he took several large gulps he glanced at the clock that hung above the doorway on his way out. He swiftly noted that it was one thirty, half-an-hour before his agreed meeting with Ororo. Tossing over a few options in his mind as he departed the quiet shaded kitchen he decided to make his way to the pool house, maybe have a quick dip before it became rife with students making the most of their lunch hour.

The pool was as still as a glass surface when he got down there, the door casting an eerie echo through-out the room as it creaked open and banged back shut behind him. The lounge chairs were arranged randomly around the pure blue and black stripped oblong and strewn with damp towels left there without a care for the housekeeping to collect. Talk about the Life of Reilly these kids get, he thought to himself as he stopped at the top end of the pool. Remy had his own towel casually draped over his left shoulder, the already half finished beer gripped loosely in his right hand as he quickly surveyed the pool. The enormous glass sidings of the building trapped what little heat there was coming from the early autumn sun inside the airy space, making it warm enough but not uncomfortably so. Throwing his towel down onto the sun-lounger closest to him he placed the amber brown beer bottle onto the tiled floor with a small clink and as he straightened up he peeled off his sleeveless t-shirt and dumped it on top of his crumpled towel. Taking his Swiss knife from his pocket and depositing it with the rest of his gear he kicked off his trainers and then whipped off his baggy jeans. Deciding that his cut boxer shorts would be sufficient for a quick swim he stepped close to the edge, preparing to dive, breaking the perfect stillness as if it were a sheet of glass. But just as he was about to launch himself in, a muffled exploding sound practically right next to him almost made him stumble into the chlorine blue pool rather ungainly.

He managed to save himself just in time though as the bright magenta cloud dissipated and the familiar sulphur and brimstone stench reached his nostrils much to his chagrin.

"What de hell you playin' at Kurt!" Remy exclaimed in delayed shock. He hated it when he did that, it was downright creepy. But at least he'd saved himself from plunging into the water.

Kurt took no noticed of Remy's surprise; he was too concerned with what he'd been 'bamfing' about the mansion for the past twenty minutes trying to find him to tell him. "Xavier," he panted, looking somewhere between excitement and anxiety. "He's...he's..."

Remy ran out of patience with Kurt's shortness of breath, barking, "He's what?" But he did not really need him to tell him. His worst fear, the one that he had been trying to pretend was no longer a problem had been realised. He had spent these past weeks in such state of bliss that he had genuinely barely thought about it. There was a huge lurch in his stomach, as if it had just left his body and dropped into the lower reaches of the mansion. He truly didn't need him to say it...

"He's found Mystique," Kurt said, somewhat steadier than his earlier attempt.

"Where?" Remy asked automatically, his voice stonier and colder than Kurt had ever heard it before.

The German paused, taking in Remy's steely look, but he eventually roused himself enough to say, "London."

TBC


End file.
